Find What You Love, and Let it Kill You
by theferretwholived
Summary: It's three years after the war, but nothing turned out as expected. Wizards are living as Muggles, the Death Eaters hold the Ministry, and Harry Potter is missing. All reviews are welcome; it's you that keeps me going.
1. Out of the Snow and into Darkness

Draco liked the eerie, unnatural silence and sameness that snow brought. The great London sky was a flat even grey as the tiny frozen flakes peppered the streets and rooftops. In the melancholy hours after work and before curfew, Draco wandered around the city. Today, he found himself lying on his back on a picnic table next to the river Thames, staring up into the falling snow.

He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled the thick white smoke into the silvery world; it mixed and mingled with the snowflakes. Each draw caused a sinking, relaxing feeling that seemed to pull his back closer to the table, as if he was being absorbed into it. His woolen scarf was wet with hundreds of thousands of melted icy flecks and his hair stuck to his forehead. Through another long release of smoke he sighed, thinking about how he ended up there.

The war had been finished almost three years prior; Draco hadn't considered it "won," because good had not prevailed. Although Voldemort had perished as a consequence of his weakened soul and the connection between him and Harry Potter, the influence of his followers was too strong to be overcome. The crowd that had gathered around their final fight cheered when Voldemort had collapsed in death, thinking it was all over… until streaks of vibrant green lightning had rained down on the supposed victors. They succumbed quickly to the ruthlessness of Voldemort's remaining loyalists.

Those who had been on the Dark Lord's side were obviously spared and rewarded; those who had not were punished, stripped of their magical status and forced to live as Muggles. This punishment seemed exceptionally cruel and demeaning to the Death Eaters as they took the wands, sometimes forcibly, from anyone that had opposed them. Many of the more fragile members of the battle immediately changed allegiances in a desperate grab for their own salvation. For the most part, their disgraceful plan had been fruitful, but they were only rewarded the most menial jobs that the wizarding world had to offer, and were regarded as highly as mudbloods.

The most bloodthirsty of the Death Eaters, seeking to avenge his Aunt Bellatrix's death, found it in their personal duties to punish the Weasleys severely because it was at the matron's hand that she had died. They were sent far away to exile, somewhere where they could perform no magic and rarely were allowed to see each other. Or, at least, that's what the Carrows had told Draco. After having lost Ron, Hermione Granger had set off on foot in desperate heartbreak without telling a soul of her plan and without her wand as well, to personally scour the Earth to find her love. She was never heard from again.

Of course, there was a special place in hell for Harry Potter. He was imprisoned by the Ministry for the first year and a half after the war. They used him as a puppet for their own amusement, a jester of sorts, subjecting him to the most powerful of Imperious curses and causing him complete humiliation. The Carrows again were at the forefront of pain and suffering and presided over most of Potter's slavery. Draco remembered well their most favourite of humiliation tactics: they had stripped him naked and thrown him in an oversized gerbil's cage and placed it in Trafalgar Square for all of London to see for three months. The cage was open to the elements from the top and they rarely changed the wood chips that lined the floor. Essentially, they left Harry to rot publicly in his own filth while only just barely giving him the nutrients to sustain his life. Also, for his viewing pleasure, they projected the live feed from the Weasleys' exile and torture on the glass sides of his cage, viewable only to him, for him to slowly waste away to insanity while others watched him scream and writhe in mental anguish, oblivious of his strife. They had quickly found that the best way to break Harry Potter was to rid him of all those who loved him. It was, after all, love that had saved him in the very beginning. One night out of no where, the cage vanished when no one was around to witness it, and he had fled into the darkness of London's alleys. Rumours flew that he was forming a resistance of freedom fighters, that he had gone to the United States for asylum, or that he had killed himself out of madness. No one wanted to admit that they knew absolutely nothing about his whereabouts.

And then there was Draco Malfoy, an icon of the new regime. Gleaming, clean, polished, and of fabulous wealth and heritage, he was the very image of the future of the new wizarding world. He instantly had gained the position of Senior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, which didn't bother him in the slightest because despite the fancy title, it was just mounds upon mounds of personal records that needed approval or denial. He sat in a posh office in an overstuffed velveteen chair, stamping papers with a bored look on his face and only straightening his back and expression when someone actually bothered to come talk to him.

Muggles were, surprisingly, mostly left alone. Now that the Ministry had all the power it could ever have, they no longer needed to torture and kill for amusement. Instead, they congratulated themselves on being masters of the universe over exorbitantly expensive cocktails and cigars and amused themselves with lavish parties the new "magical Squibs" were forced to throw in their honour. The only true impact on the Muggle lifestyle was the takeover of the entire Muggle government and the threat of being killed instantly for nothing other than not being of magical blood.

His cigarette had burned to nothing but filter, so he shoved it between the weathered planks of the picnic bench. He was left alone for the majority of his time, especially once work let out. Draco had his own flat in an upscale neighbourhood of London that was secluded enough so he wasn't bothered, but immersed enough so he didn't feel entirely alone. The snow was falling heavier now and enough had accumulated to make a pleasing crunch when Draco brought his feet down from the table. Checking his watch, he knew curfew was almost in effect, though it hardly mattered because Draco was a poster child, and could therefore do almost whatever he wanted as long as he kept his public image relatively untarnished.

The fanfare began to blast through the speakers in the streets as Draco rounded the first corner away from his picnic table smoke spot. He watched as Londoners scattered like rats to get into the nearest doorway, even if it wasn't their actual home or workplace. They would stay for an hour, just until the sweeps of the roads for stragglers were done, and then scurry off down damp alleys into the inky darkness, taking the most secretive path possible to their abodes. If they were caught, they were at first given a fine. On second offences the Death Eaters showed their own form of mercy: the Cruciatus Curse, right there in the street. Draco thought it was unnecessary, because the Muggles were too scared of them to fathom breaking the rules, and the magical Squibs were too broken to care about much of anything anymore. He continued on, glancing into exposed windows every now and again, where he could see people offering people who were most likely strangers steaming hot tea and a healthy portion of some hearty meal. The curfew had done its job to deter crime but with an unexpected side effect: the people of London were united in terms of friendship and hospitality. If someone showed up on a doorstep at curfew time, people had learned that whom you were, where you were from, or what you did for a living was unimportant. They fed you and, if the family you stumbled upon was a little bit well off, they gave you a few coins to pay off any Death Eaters you might encounter on the rest of your journey home.

Another corner, and Draco began to see the scores of officials begin to appear from thin air or pour from dark alleys and doorways. His bright blond hair was obvious enough to make his identity known, so he continued walking past as if they didn't exist while they cast glares of envy. Down a murky side alley, rounding endless bends he cut through the snowy night with grace and agility. Stepping through a hole in a rotten fence, he came face to face with a dodgy grimy pub lit with shotty old neon so covered in dirt there hardly was even a point to turn on the lights. Draco secured his valuables inside his coat with a charm and trudged through the deepening snow to the door.

Inside was a perpetual haze of cigarette and cigar smoke, as well as the smell of stale basement and working men. It wasn't a clean, proper smell that Draco should enjoy, but something about the smell of smoke, motor oil, and sweat made him feel safe, as if he was just a normal person and not some royal figurehead. As soon as he stepped across the threshold the bartender, a war-hardened magical Squib by the name of Barnaby thrust an entire bottle of gin at Draco.

"Y'look like ye need it today, my good man. 'S'on me." he chuckled with half of an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth. Draco took his normal place on a dry-rotted barstool at the darkest corner of the bar.

"Thanks, Barns," Draco half-muttered as he reached under the bar for a whiskey glass. He filled it to the very brim and slid it across to the wrinkled bartender, who toasted Draco and knocked it back with a wide grin and a shudder. For the first time that day, Draco allowed himself to crack a little half-smile at the corner of his lips. Five years ago, Draco would have never associated with someone like Barnaby but Draco, and the times, were different, and he considered the brash man almost a friend.

With the same indifference Draco kept through all circumstances in his normal life, he began drinking straight from the bottle while absent-mindedly staring at an arm wrestling match going on at the other end of the bar. He looked entirely out of place wearing flawless dress pants and a Victorian military jacket, while everyone else was covered in grit and their clothes were torn and frayed. Tipping the bottle back and chugging, he shuddered for a full ten seconds at the bitter taste of the gin.

"I fucking hate this job, Barns. Like, I really fucking hate this job, and the people, and just… just, fuck. Fuck, Barns," Draco proclaimed an hour later while polishing off the last inch or two of liquid courage in the bottle in his hand. "Everyone is such a pompous asshole. So full of themselves with horrendously large sticks up their arses." He attempted to sit the bottle squarely on the counter but managed to just get the corner on the surface, which slipped sideways with Draco's hand coming in contact with the counter.

"Don' hold back, Draco," the bartender snickered. He was good-natured and kind, but it seemed everything was a joke to him. It occurred to Draco that having seen the things that man had seemed, joking was the healthiest way to cope.

"Oh, I won't, you can count on that. I can say whatever I want to you because you bloody understand. Pigs." Draco went off on the same drunken tangent whenever he went to that bar, but it never bothered anyone. In fact, most regulars perked up when they saw him enter the bar because it meant they'd be getting a dish of good old-fashioned slightly rebellious ranting. It made it even more hilarious that it was coming from the second-in-command himself. A lot of the regulars from the bar were people Draco had known either from school or various holidays with his family; they'd known him as a nasty little prick growing up, but most had at least grown neutral to him because it appeared he was one of them after all and that his ego had deflated considerably. The war changed everyone, but they also understood Draco had to put on airs to keep up appearances. He was central to the government, so if he seemed pleased to the general commons, it could be assumed that the Minister was pleased as well.

"Yer jan'd, man," he heard one of the arm wrestlers say. Draco lifted his head from the bar. He hadn't realised that his head had made a pillow of the gin bottle until the other man nudged him.

"Li-thas-sumthinnew…" he mumbled groggily. Barnaby put a tall glass of water on the counter in front of him.

"Ev'ry day y'come in here 'n' get twisted, Malfoy. How d'y'do it?" He was wiping down the bar with a lemon-scented scrub that made Draco crave some sort of mixed drink with too much tequila. Draco smirked and pointed at the other man, bottle in hand, obviously readying to tell him a very interesting story. He opened his mouth to talk a few times, but reduced to snickering so heavily that his eyes squinted shut and he bared his teeth. Finally, he gathered his composure enough to speak.

"Hangover… potions…" he managed to slur definitively. He began to giggle again when he pulled a flask from his breast pocket and chugged the contents before anyone could stop him. "I fergot I 'ad that!" He whipped out his wand and refilled it under the bar and downed the contents again.

"Ya certainly need more booze, yeh!" joked Barnaby, and Draco laughed with a very animated nod, which almost tossed him off his barstool. He gripped the edge of the counter for support, eyes wide because he had very nearly just escaped certain death, and then laughed heartily again for what a fool he was. It had been a little over an hour and he was too drunk to stand and was more than likely at least a little blacked out.

Twenty minutes later, Draco was face down on the bar and not stirring. A few people tried to rouse him, but this was an almost daily occurrence and all present knew the plastered wizard would be perfectly okay because they had all seen him drink much more than what he had consumed that night. A stranger coming from the back of the bar tossed several coins on to the counter before nodding at the pub owner.

"I've got it, okay? I'll make sure he gets home and doesn't end up in a ditch somewhere." The bartender nodded with a knowing smile and whisked the money into a large glass jar while wishing him a good evening. The unknown man took Draco's arm and flung it around his shoulders to hoist him to his feet and secured an arm around his waist. Draco made some incomprehensible mumbling, but his head lolled forward and he was out cold again.


	2. Uneasy Meetings and Soup Tureens

Draco's eyes began to flutter open. Through blurry vision he noticed he was not in his own bedroom, that the room was very dim except for a few rays of light peaking through the window blinds, and there was a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed. Smoke swirled in the slices of light and the stranger's cherried cigarette glowed like an evil red eye, watching him. Draco made some inaudible waking noises and began to sit up.

"'S'bout time you woke up," the man said, taking a puff from his cigarette. Draco's vision was clearing and he saw him turn around and pick up an all-too-familiar cobalt blue bottle before rounding the edge of the bed to hand it to him. "I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking." Draco was in no mood or state to argue and uncorked the potion, dumping it down his throat. The shadow waited for a few moments before flicking his hand at the window causing the blinds to slowly open, allowing their eyes to adjust comfortably. The stranger stood over him with his arms crossed, practically breathing through his cigarette, which magically never produced ash. "Do you always get that hammered when you drink?"

"I don't normally black out. As if it's any of your business how much I drink." Draco focused hard on the figure that looked so undeniably familiar. A solid jaw, black hair cut short but still shaggy, and square glasses with black frames were the first thing he noticed. The man's zip-up jumper sleeves were pushed to his elbows, and the collar of his button-down shirt folded over the lapels. His silver belt buckle glowed softly over dark jeans in the sunlight. It wasn't until he looked into the man's eyes that he understood who was standing in front of him.

"Shit!" Draco made a mad scramble backwards across the bed out of shock before wildly feeling himself over to make sure he was decent.

"I didn't fuck with you last night, if that's what you're thinking. I removed your jacket and shoes and threw you in bed. I slept on the couch. The room was now completely lit with early afternoon glow, and so was his boarder.

"Potter…?"

"Yes, I'm alive. Surprised?" Harry's tone was distinctly different from the one he remembered belonging to his classmate. It was distinctly different, yes… distinctly Slytherin.

"Quite surprised, actually…" All boyhood rivalry aside, Draco was too shocked to likely be the first person in over a year to see Harry Potter, or at least the only person who would recognise him.

Harry sucked his teeth as he stared down at Draco and then rolled his eyes while pulling a mangled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. As he pulled one out to hand it to Draco, it automatically lit itself. He accepted it gratefully, but stared at this unfamiliar magic; even his own cigarettes weren't ash-free and self-igniting. Harry stuck his own in is mouth while rolling his eyes again. He threw the covers off Draco in one fluid motion.

"Well, c'mon then, get up!" Scared by Harry's strange urgency and foreign attitude, Draco nearly flung himself on the floor. "And don't act so scared of me. I'm not going to bite."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Draco murmured. Harry scoffed and opened the bedroom door. He followed Harry through the doorway and into a surprisingly immaculate living room. "Why am I here?"

"Because you were shitfaced and passed out on the counter," Harry replied curtly as he sat a kettle of water on to boil. "It was embarrassing, so I figured I'd get you out of there before someone with less…" he turned to Draco and obviously looked him over, "savoury motives did. But then again, I can't be one to lecture you on your poison; I've got plenty of my own. Sit."

"I didn't need your help, Potter. It wouldn't have been the first time I've been blacked out, passed out at a pub. I've been much worse, you know."

"And really, Malfoy, is that something an upstanding lad such as yourself should be proud of? You're lucky Barnaby and a few of the regulars know you well enough to leave you alone; there were a few burly new-comers eyeing you like fresh meat."

"Why were you in my bar last night, anyway Potter? After all this time and you just happen to be in my bar and come to my rescue? Honestly, I thought we were over the whole 'saving people thing' you had at Hogwarts." Finally, Draco sat on a barstool at Harry's counter, embittered and feeling slightly violated.

"I'm never done saving your life, Malfoy. You're always going to need it, and I'm afraid I'm the only one with enough bits to do it." Draco's memory flashed back to the night of the battle where the flames of Fiendfyre lapped at his heels, and Harry had pulled him from imminent death. The memory was enough to silence him on the subject; it was too painful to think that Harry had saved him, but Draco had left him to the whims of the Carrows.

The clank of a heavy glass mug on the granite counter startled him, but the smell of strong black tea was a comfort.

_Why are you being so nice to the little shit, _Draco argued with himself, _what happened to your Malfoy pride?_

Harry pushed a sugar bowl towards his blond guest and hauled himself to sit cross-legged on the adjacent cabinet.

"So how've you been?" He asked cheerfully, and the unforeseen change in attitude set Draco on edge. Was Potter just playing around? Or did he have serious mental repercussions from his torture?

"Uh… fine? Yourself?" Draco sipped the steaming hot tea, ignoring the sugar bowl. "You look… good."

"I try to make myself look presentable. Had to reinvent myself after the war, after… it all." Harry's eyes were downcast and Draco swore he heard his voice crack at the end of his sentence. But Harry looked back up just as sunnily as before, but his face fell slightly. "You're the first person from my past I've talked to since it all went to hell…"

"Yeah? You too." All of Draco's responses were skeptical. "Hey, where are we?"

"Fleet Street. But don't go spreading that information around and give away my whereabouts. I really don't feel like having to go into hiding again, so I'm trusting you not to fuck this up." Draco was taken aback by Potter's demands; they were forward, rude and confusing. Before he could muster a retort, Harry jumped off the counter and disappeared into a side room for a minute or two and returned empty-handed. He took a sip of his tea and sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"If you think I'm going to 'fuck this up,' as you put it so sweetly, why did you bring me here in the first place?" he snapped, straightening his back in a defensive posture.

"I don't think you're going to fuck this up," Harry said, continuing their pattern of repeating each other, "because you're a grown man now and without Mommy and Daddy egging you on, you don't find yourself in too many situations you don't want to be in." Harry was right, on all accounts. Damn him, he was right!

Draco felt awkward, something he had only felt maybe twice in his life, and both times now had been because of Harry bloody Potter. The first had been at his refusal of friendship, and now, ten years later, sitting in the same scarhead's own kitchen. Trying to avoid Harry's eye, which always seemed to find a way to bore into his soul, Draco spun on his barstool to take in Harry's flat.

It was newly renovated, Draco could tell. The tile floors hardly had a scuff, the cabinets were freshly painted, and the upholstery on every chair was pristine and vibrant. In many ways, it reminded him very much of his own place, except for his had hardwood floors and leather chairs. He told Harry he admired his taste in decorating, grabbing at anything that could be made into small talk. Harry graciously thanked him.

"To be honest, Potter, I don't know what I'm doing here with you. I've never woken up after a blackout in another man's bed." Talking to him further solidified how far removed Draco was from human contact. He decided resolutely that as long as Harry could be civil to him, he'd be civil in return. It wasn't that he was all together ready to accept Harry Potter as a friend and ally with open arms; it was more that he didn't have the energy any longer to care whether or not they had been foes from the beginning. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Harry said almost as soon as Draco had closed his mouth, and before he could be surprised at his host's quick reflexes his coat was being flung at his face and Harry was jamming his feet into his shoes by the door. Draco hardly had time to even get to his shoes before Harry was impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

"Potter, if you don't wait a damn second…" grumbled Draco as he tied a knot in his shoelaces and buttoned his jacket up to his neck. Feeling around his neck and noticing his scarf was missing, he panicked. It had been his first ever Slytherin scarf and if he lost it now he wasn't sure if he could ever forgive himself. As if on cue, Harry's hand shot out holding his beloved scarf and Draco nearly snatched it with a sigh of relief. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a guilty look in Potter's eyes as he followed him out the door.

More snow had fallen overnight and surprised Draco by rudely burying his shiny black dress shoes up to his ankles. He mumbled an Impervious charm on his and Harry's shoes, and they were off.

_Honestly, dumbass, what are you doing? Here, with Harry sodding Potter about to go out on a cute little lunch date? _Draco had taken to arguing with his former self in the years after the war. It had become the only way to rationalise with himself besides drinking.

_"Because I'm fucking lonely and starved for attention and you know it, prick. At this point I don't give a damn if he is Harry Potter, I just want someone to talk to for once."_

_You could talk to anyone you wanted, Draco Malfoy. You're the top assistant to the Minister of Magic. If you wanted someone to talk to so badly, just hire someone. You can afford it._

_ "Right, right, because paying someone to talk to me will illicit true human emotion and intellectually stimulating conversation. Exactly. How utterly wise you are."_

_ I am. That's why you listen to me-_

_ "Since when do I listen to YOU anymore?"_

Draco spent the entire walk to wherever Potter was leading him arguing with himself. Occasionally he would glance over at his company, whom he would sometimes catch glancing back. It was odd for both of them, after years of loathing each other, to walk side-by-side without fighting or expecting the other to hex them at any given second. Draco's apathy was in overdrive. If he allowed himself to feel anything towards Potter but neutrality, he might ruin his chances of making an acquaintance of the only real link to his past. Lord knows he was walking on eggshells as it was.

"Here it is!" Harry exclaimed as they stopped in front of a very cozy looking café. He seemed all too excited about going out to eat as he pushed the door open, kicked his boots on the threshold just to be sure, and stepped into the unbelievably warm establishment.

"Harry, darling!" A rotund, rosy-cheeked older woman with grey hair hopped around the front register and pressed his face between her hands. "Sit, sit! You must be chilled." Draco was standing at just the right angle that he saw a light flare in Harry's eyes. It occurred to him suddenly that this woman was his surrogate Mrs. Weasley, and the guilt in the pit of his stomach that had festered since he'd woken up in his bed flared to a most uncomfortable fire. Noticing Draco was standing a step to the side, she turned to him with her glowing grin and squeezed his shoulders.

"I know who you are," she began in a hushed tone, and his heart crashed to feet. "But anyone who is friends with Harry is welcome here. Sit, both of you." The relief that she wasn't about to disregard him completely was palpable and he let it wash over his face with a full smile. He had never known in his life how friendly people could be even after the most unjust of wrongs had been brought upon them. Noticing Harry smirking at him, he dropped his smile as best as he could.

"I thought you never smiled because it would break your perfect porcelain face," he teased with the same smirk.

_That's my smirk, asshole. Where'd you get that? Give it back._

"Shut it, you arse," Draco shot back, but he couldn't help but give Potter credit for his witty remark. It was something he himself would have said, given the opportunity.

Without warning a steaming crock of soup was placed in front of each of them and a warm loaf of bread, butter melting off the top of the loaf. It took immense degrees of willpower for him not to moan in hunger, and he hadn't smelled food that delicious since Hogwarts.

To Draco's enormous surprise, conversation flowed easily between them, but it was obvious both still remained very reserved. Potter was pleased to hear that Draco didn't care much about anything but sleeping and drinking, and Draco was pleased to hear that Potter's interests were much the same. Potter told him he looked like a stuck-up prick in his dress coat and pants, and Draco told him his glasses made him look like a Soho child. Neither mentioned the Ministry, Voldemort, his torture, the Weasleys' exile, or Hermione.

"You know," his black-haired acquaintance mused as he pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, "you're not that bad of a man. But I still hate you because you're a slimy, twitchy ferret."

"Likewise, scarhead." Their tones were half coated in playful banter, and half dripping in unadulterated loathing. The Slytherin felt grateful Harry had genuinely insulted him, oddly enough. He was feeling entirely too uncomfortable with just how _comfortable_ they acted with each other. It was good to know that he still hated him because it set Draco back in his place and defined the boundaries of where both of them stood. Harry left a hefty sum of money on the table and Draco matched it before leaving the heavy warmth of the café. They walked abreast on the way back home, insulting each other the whole way. It was exactly like it was at Hogwarts, but with less jealous fury and more of a "we survived, so let's joke about how we still blame each other for our problems" understanding.

"Where do you live?" blurted Harry as they arrived at his front step.

"Park Lane," replied Draco with the same instantaneous way Harry had inquired, "third post box on the left side of the street. You have to walk down stairs to get to my front door."

"Splendid! Now I'll never leave you alone." Again came Harry's new smirk, and Draco fought the urge to wrinkle his upturned nose at the sight of his signature expression on his rival's face. "I'm going to worm my way into your life and mess up everything and there's nil you can do to stop me."

"Right then, if you're so sure of yourself." Draco looked up at Harry's building, memorizing the surrounding structures, the crack in the first step, the scratches on the doorknob no doubt the product of many drunken nights fumbling to get the key in the keyhole. The sun hung low in the sky, and curfew was fast approaching.

"Get inside. If they find you out and about they'll give you hell," warned Draco with a glance at his watch. At this, Potter literally laughed.

"Yeah, they will, if they can catch me. And they can't. You couldn't, they can't. If I remember correctly, I caught you. It wasn't particularly difficult."

"Shove off!" the blond remarked back with feigned offence. He tipped his head towards Harry's front doorway. "Go, though. Seriously. If you're going to edge your way in to my life and royally muck it up, I think you should have at least have the chance to get started."

"I already have." And with that, Harry turned on his heel and disappeared into his flat without another word.


	3. Drinking Games and Divine Guidance

Draco Apparated home the instant the door hid Harry from view. Anxiety was sweeping over him as he fumbled with the house keys. He stabbed around the keyhole a few times before he stopped and stared at the doorknob. There were fine scratches around the keyhole now that had never been there, and it looked similar to Harry's front door.

"Really?" he exclaimed in exasperation, yanked his wand from inside his sleeve and unlocked the door. Once inside, he repaired the scratches and slammed the door shut, sliding down the door on his back. Draco pounded his blond head on the door a few times before speaking out loud.

"Why me, huh?" No reply. The space was silent as always. From his spot in front of the door he looked over at the large window behind the kitchen sink where a silver window box sat. Inside the window box was a single bamboo plant, curving and curling and twisting this way and that. "It's a shame you're a plant, but you're better company than most." Obviously, the bamboo didn't respond.

Draco had to remind himself to do just about everything, often out loud, because if he didn't he would do absolutely nothing.

"Get off the floor and get yourself some water, Draco," he mimicked Dolores Umbridge whenever he spoke to himself, because it fueled his actions with contempt. As if to complain to himself, he begrudgingly got off the floor and grabbed himself a glass. He began to turn it over in his hand watching the reflection of the window curve around the glass and sighed.

"I hate you, Harry Potter." He opened the cabinet and replaced the glass before leaving the kitchen. He descended a flight of stairs tucked away behind a large entertainment centre, flipping on the yellow overhead lights. He stared around his wine cellar before rolling his eyes, grabbing the nearest largest bottle he could find and stomping up the stairs. In the kitchen, he toasted good health to his bamboo plant before drinking his wine straight down.

His work briefcase glared at him, taunting and daring him to do at least do some work. Draco stared at the fragile wine glass in his hand, then back at the briefcase, and finally back at the glass.

"Do your work, Draco," he reminded himself, but didn't head to the offending briefcase until he had grabbed the wine bottle to tote along with him. Seated at his low living room table on a plush black leather sofa he cracked open the clasps and pulled out his stack of papers. Going through that weeks transgressors and assigning punishments was simple enough.

"_Daniel Larson- theft of merchandise, value exceeds £300." Whatever, I'll give him a fine._

_ "Margaret Montagne- disregarding curfew." Standard £150 fine it is, Margie._

Halfway through the stack of papers and, fittingly, halfway through the oversized bottle of wine, Draco grew bored with his duties.

"You have got to finish them for the weekend, so you've got nothing hanging over your head." Draco grumbled at himself because he knew he was right. He took a deep drink before diving in again. Whilst he carelessly powered through his work the eerie curfew fanfare roared through the streets and he heard the doors on his neighbours' slam open and shut. No one ever came to his door because it was too far from the street for a quick duck and cover; if anyone were to come, they would have to descend a full flight of stairs, turn left down a sidewalk, meander through a compact Japanese water garden and over a small sandstone bridge to finally arrive at the mahogany double doors that served as the entrance to his home. Draco preferred his maze of a patio in the spring; he could hide from no one and not even the minimal London wildlife would come to bother him.

"Ah ha! Fuck you!" Draco shouted triumphantly at his completed stack of work as he slammed it down on the glass table. He looked around the room, so clean it was as if no one lived there at all. After a pause, he stated to his pile of paperwork that he needed more wine and left, only to return with two bottles.

Once Draco had drunk himself into a false sense of self-assurance, he forced himself out of his chair and stumbled to his bathroom. Half-way through pulling off his shirt the smell of soup caught his nose, and he stopped abruptly. He inhaled deeply through his shirt which smelt of the soup from earlier and Potter's cigarettes. Draco stood there for a solid minute, arms over his head and shirt stuck under his chin smelling his shirt, which he scolded himself for by viciously yanking the shirt off the rest of the way and tossing it out into the hallway.

Once in the shower with the scalding water burning his skin he allowed himself to think through the past twenty-four hours. It seemed all too coincidental that a few hours before stupid Harry Potter had essentially kidnapped him from a pub, he had been thinking of him and speculating what had happened after he'd disappeared into the night. He seemed to be doing well for himself, but something about it seemed… off.

_ I can't be one to lecture you on your poison…_

_ I don't think you're going to fuck this up…_

_ I already have…_

Why did he have to be so enigmatic? And at what point in Draco's life did he become so desperate for human interaction that he would resort to the company of his childhood adversary? Certainly this wasn't acceptable behaviour for him; it was essentially fraternizing with the enemy. Had all this taken place five years prior he would have owled the Carrows immediately and been awarded a front row seat to their most recent humiliation extravaganza.

Yet, Draco wasn't his father. He wasn't his aunt. He wasn't cruel and power hungry. If anything, he was his mother: sincere, proper, and reserved, but capable of boundless love and affection. Draco could put aside all that he was expected to be in the privacy of his personal life. His mother would give Harry Potter a chance, just to see what he was all about. His mother _did_ give him a chance, and Draco was alive because of it. He choked at the thought of Potter lying dead in Hagrid's arms and how his mother had squeezed his hand; she understood how he had felt about him, how he admired Harry Potter for his bravery which Draco severely lacked but always envied.

He reached through the shower door to the second bottle of wine sitting beside the towel rack, uncorked it, and drank heavily. If his mother saw how much he drank she'd be heartbroken, but somehow he didn't care so much about that. He was broken himself, forced into an existence he despised because it was his "rightful place as a Malfoy" to nearly control the government. But he hated it all. He hated the Carrows, he hated his father, he hated Voldemort for fucking up his entire life. But mostly, he hated himself for having originally wanted all this, for having disappointed his parents, for having nearly murdered Albus Dumbledore, and, most importantly, for having made Harry Potter's life more miserable than it needed to be. Here in his drunken stupor exacerbated by the burning shower he allowed himself to cry over all that he'd done on his path to greatness, in hopes of ridding himself of the guilt that suffocated and crushed his heart.

A full bottle and a half of wine later Draco dragged himself from the shower onto the floor, gasping at the freezing cold tiles against his overheated skin. He laid face down on his bathroom floor, still feeling horribly about himself and tears still streaking down his face. Hardly able to stand, he dried himself off by rolling on the fluffy bathroom rug. He stared up at the golden iridescent glass tiles on the ceiling of his bathroom.

_I'm going to do something right for once,_ he told himself. His former self remained silent, which was received well my Draco's severely intoxicated brain. _I'm going to treat Potter like he should have been treated. He had more on his plate than any teenage boy ever needed, and I just made it worse. I'm going to make it up to him._

The steam from his shower had left the bathroom and he lay there shivering, but determined.

_But what if he wants nothing to do with me? What if he doesn't want me to be nice to him? "I'm going to worm my way into your life, mess everything up, and there's nil you can do to stop me." That's what he said. What if his being kind to me today was just him bating a trap for my demise? What if he's finally snapped and wants nothing more than to see me crumble? What if I'm falling for it like an idiot? Maybe this is his plan, to get me to second-guess myself into insanity. He said he's already started. Maybe it's already working? Damn him, he's good._

Several minutes later Draco found himself lying face down in his bed, trying to cover himself by repeatedly kicking his covers up in the air for he was too lazy to bother reaching down and pulling them over himself. Successfully covered and intoxicated, Draco allowed himself to be pulled into a dreamless sleep.

Waking abruptly and sitting bolt upright caused a splitting headache. His windows had thin gauze-like shades that did nothing to block the light so he faced perpetual blindness until he could retrieve a hangover potion from his bedside table. Falling asleep immediately post-shower made his bright hair stand funny in all directions, making him gripe until he verbally told himself to get a shower and begin his day.

Much finger twiddling was done throughout the day; normally Draco would procrastinate as much as he could on his take-home files so that the thought of beginning them occupied his mind all weekend. Now, he literally had nothing to do but to think about how little he had to do, how bored he was, and how much he wasn't going to go bother Harry to entertain him.

Sitting cross-legged on the stone bridge in his garden smoking cigarettes in the freezing cold was the only thing that managed to entertain him for longer than five minutes. Draco idly flicked his wand at the koi fish drifting around his pond, changing their scales every colour of the rainbow. Every creak of the wrought iron gate that lead to his stairway made him jump, which also immediately made him feel like a fool. Why should he care so much if he didn't see that stupid hero for a whole day?

"I'm going to go pass out," he announced proudly to his koi fish, which, as expected, didn't react in the slightest.

Once inside, he picked up a bottle of vodka and a large energy drink, plopped onto the his sofa, and flicked on the television. Draco had grown fonder of Muggle devices than his father was comfortable and rather liked the idea of having to do for himself. He found it dreadfully boring and languid to rely on house elves to do anything and everything, as his father did. Draco did not own a house elf and, after having lived cooking and cleaning for himself, never would.

Draco found a suitable sitcom and cracked the seal on the bottle and popped the can of energy drink open. First, he drank a significant amount from the vodka to create space and then topped it off with the energy drink. It was his favourite way to drink just about anything, and always ended with him four sheets to the wind. He played a drinking game, which was very simple to follow even when very inebriated: every time the show featured a laugh track, he would drink. Whenever a commercial started, drink. Whenever the show started again, drink. On the upside, it made even the most mediocre shows absolutely hilarious, and Draco needed all the laughter he could get in his life.

An hour later and absolutely destroyed, he fumbled with his lighter to light a cigarette before he blacked out. Inhaling to the bottom of his lungs, he put the bottle to his lips and slowly exhaled, filling it with smoke. It rose gracefully and spilled out and down the sides, much like the fog from dry ice, and he smiled. Smoke was beautiful to him; it came from destruction, but looked elegant and serene. He repeated the smoke trick in between gulps of his brand of mixed drink until the bottle was empty. He filled it again with smoke, covered the top with his hand, laid it on its side and uncovered it. The smoke trickled out in a slow motion waterfall manner. It seemed to pool on the table before breaking surface tension and spilling onto the floor. Draco watched in amazement with wide, childlike eyes. Smoke was the only thing left after something had been supremely and irreparably destroyed; in his life, his father had been the fire, and he was the smoke. He felt like exhaustion of the alcohol begin to bring him under and he snuffed whatever was left of his cigarette by dropping it in the empty bottle. Turning over to face the back of the sofa, he passed out almost instantly.

Multiple times he woke up, still very drunk, to use the bathroom. But on the last time, he stayed up for good. It was just before dawn, Draco assumed, because the lilac and dandelion sunrise was just beginning to slowly erase the navy of night. Draco pulled on his coat, upturned the collar, ruffled his normally neat hair and stuck one cigarette in his mouth and another behind his ear before leaving his flat.

He walked purposely through the almost empty streets, mingling only with postal workers and newsboys who gave him odd looks as he passed by them, reeking of tobacco and booze. The unlit cigarette gave him something to press his lips around to take his focus off the fact that Potter had promised to bother him, and hadn't yet. It seemed like such a scarhead thing to do to pester Draco incessantly now that he'd discovered him, and the fact that it seemed it was never going to happen put him on his toes.

Draco found his way to an ancient church, which was just opened for the very earliest worshippers who took time in the confessionals before early Sunday mass. He pushed the great door inward and shivered at the sudden heat and warm darkness that enveloped him. The only light in the church was coming from a few lit votives in a stand next to the door, sconces lit at the organ, and the beaming sunrise through the massive stained glass windows. Draco had been to this church many times before, and lit a votive and slipped a few notes into the collection box adjacent out of respect.

"Good morning, my son," came a hushed voice behind him. The old priest bowed slightly in a show of respect. "Have you come to confess?"

"Morning, father," Draco began. He wasn't religious in the slightest, but something about churches calmed him. He understood why Muggles clung so heavily to religion; being in a church made him feel as if he were being embraced by silken arms, in existence only to comfort and support him. "No, I've just come to reflect." The priest smiled knowingly, tipped his head to Draco, and walked away. Draco walked down the middle aisle to the altar and kneeled before the enormous golden display of the Virgin Mary and Jesus, and thought about Harry Potter and how he could possibly begin to understand who he had become. Somewhere unseen, a harpist began practicing for that day's services, and he expected the organist would soon follow.

The smell of beeswax candles and holy water made him temporarily forget why he was suddenly filled with so much anxiety. He watched the sun rise through the stained glass, illuminating the dust that swirled faintly through the air. He knelt there long enough with his head bowed in mock prayer that the sun had begun to warm the top of his head and shoulders; he smiled to himself at the feeling. After what must have been half an hour he stood to leave, nodded his head at the priest who had welcomed him in, and slid a few extra coins into the collection box before exiting the heavy ornate doors.

The peace that was brought by sitting in silence before the altar kept him wrapped in warmth the entire walk back to his flat. Upon returning, he floated straight to his bedroom and collapsed in sleep, the faintest smile drawn on his lips.

He dreamed then of Hogwarts and how the Great Hall in early morning very much resembled the church, and how solitary dawn-lit walks during his school years had been some of his most cherished moments. The reverie was purely positive as it recalled the smiles of his classmates during meals, the rain of late autumn pattering his windows, and the way the sunlight beamed right across his pillow every morning. He'd insulted and demeaned Hogwarts only because his father did, but it was Draco's secret that he found it breathtaking.

Hours later after a very restful nap, Draco roused himself and showered. Despite his hangover he felt rejuvenated and purposeful. He dressed and fixed himself promptly after showering and Apparated to Fleet Street, where he rapped on Harry's front door. The door opened almost immediately, as if Harry had been standing there expecting him.

"I thought you were going to worm your way into my life? Did you forget?" Draco immediately realised he sounded desperate and wanted to slap himself, but Harry simply smirked as he stepped aside to allow Draco inside.


	4. Popping Bottles and Searching Souls

Harry rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he lead Draco into his flat.

"Okay, ferret, what'll it be?"

"Excuse me?" Draco whirled around, irritated, to the source of Harry's voice, who he found leaning on the open door of his refrigerator. He stepped aside, pulling the door along with him, revealing a literal bar inside. Draco's stomach sunk at how familiar a scene it was. "Oh. Honestly, Potter, I don't care." He waved off his host rather rudely because he was angry with himself for giving in the way he realised Harry had expected him to.

"Touchy, touchy," Harry teased. He opened his freezer, removed a pale blue frosted bottle, and placed it on the counter. "All yours. Only the good stuff for someone as important as you." The bottle made a cracking sound on the counter and Draco noticed the cap had unscrewed itself and then tightened.

Draco ignored the jab at his status. "Without a wand, Potter, how do you manage to bewitch everything you own?" Harry replied only with a sneaky smile and a tap on his head before grabbing his own unique bottle. Draco stared at it in wonderment; he'd never seen an alcohol bottle shaped like a skull. Harry noticed his amazement, looked at the bottle, back at his guest, and switched their bottles.

"It's wonderfully fitting it's shaped like a skull," he drawled absentmindedly. "You drink yourself to death with the very symbol of it in your hand. Brilliant." This bottle, too, opened on its own and Draco got a whiff of the light scent of licorice. It smelled and tasted expensive. Harry plunked down a shot glass on the counter between them, filled one of his own, and then filled Draco's. They clinked glasses, to which Harry toasted:

"To bitter rivalries that can be temporarily forgotten with alcohol." Draco couldn't help but give a slight laugh.

"_You're drinking with Harry goddamn Potter, Draco Malfoy. What is wrong with you?"_

_ I'm assuming we both have to be hammered to stand each other, but he's just being too polite to say it._

They played a sort of drinking game where after every sentence they spoke, they took shots.

"There's something in that vodka, Malfoy," Harry admitted fifteen minutes later. Draco nearly choked on his half-swallowed shot, and Harry snickered. "It's just going to keep you from passing out. You won't puke, either, but I'm going to make a healthy assumption that a seasoned alcoholic like yourself doesn't vomit often. I want to see what you're really like awake, not asleep." A wave of uneasy relief allowed him to swallow the rest of his drink; after all, it could have been much worse, though he doubted Harry would try to poison him so soon in their… whatever it was they had.

"C'mon." Harry pushed away from the counter with his backside, pouring and taking shots as he walked towards his wide sofa. Upon sitting, he folded his legs underneath himself and gestured, using the bottle, for Draco to sit across from him. "I want to talk to you."

"We've been talking," Draco grumbled while shuffling towards his new seat. He hadn't drunk nearly enough to affect his motor skills, but he was terrified of making an ass of himself.

"Well now we talk more." The blond looked at the black-haired young man across from him before imbibing a large volume of his fancy skull vodka. Harry laughed at how obvious Draco was. "Don't act like you're scared to talk to me or anything."

"I'm not scared, Potter. I just prefer drowning my problems in your fine expensive liquor is all. Cigarette?" His hands shook faintly as went to pull his personal, uncrushed pack from his inside jacket pocket and flipped it open. Harry took one, stuck it between his lips, and then quickly snatched another one to put behind his ear. Draco hesitated for a split second at the all-too-familiar action before hastily flipping one out for himself and shoving the pack out of view. Next came his Zippo, which he first politely tossed to his host.

"So," began Harry as he lit his smoke. "Firstly, you're an alcoholic. You're incredibly bright so you acknowledge it." The frank nature of his comment took Draco aback, but he nodded solemnly. "Next, you don't sleep well, so you use alcohol for that reason too." Right again. "I'm guessing you're haunted by whatever you've seen, so it gives you nightmares."

_God fucking damn you, Harry Potter._

"Yes…" Draco admitted unsurely. "And what gives you the right to say all this to me?"

"Because you just admitted I'm right."

_I fucking hate you._

"Moving on. You showed up here rather flustered, though you tried, and almost succeeded, in hiding it. I guess you missed me, or I managed to get under your skin."

"You said you'd bother me, and you hadn't yet."

"So, you were looking forward to it?" The devilish smile grew madly across Harry's thin lips. Draco's silence brought a laugh from deep within Harry that he stifled by drinking straight from his bottle. He looked like he was about to continue picking Draco apart, who then interrupted him.

"My turn, " Draco began, hardly hesitating. "You're damaged." Harry sarcastically tipped his bottle at him before taking another swig, as if to say, "well, no shit." "You act like everything's so funny, but you can't forget anything, not a single thing. It burns through your soul like acid more and more every day and you drink in an attempt to stop it. You don't censor yourself anymore, not even minimally; you realised you were better off not hiding how you felt about anything. You hate yourself, and me, and," Draco paused only briefly, "I think you partially blame me, and plan on bringing me down with you." Harry's eyes grew dark.

"Still the brightest wizard of our age, I see." Draco could tell his miniature tirade had made something snap in Harry, because he scooted across the cushions and came within inches of Draco's nose. Draco attempted to pull his face back but Harry moved closer to erase the new gap. Harry's green eyes were wild and pierced through Draco's. "But you're oh _so_ close to being completely right that it pains me to tell you you've made a mistake. See, I don't want to bring you down with me. I just don't want to die being utterly alone with my thoughts to torture me in my last moments. What I say and give to you is for you to deal with how you see fit. If you let it simmer and brew and slowly destroy you, you'll die with me; if you completely forget or disregard everything I tell you, you'll be better off. But I've judged you well, Draco Malfoy, and I'm positive that each and every snippet of my mind I share with you will cause you many sleepless nights." Without moving his face or averting his eyes, he took a drink and pushed Draco's own bottle towards him, who didn't bother hiding the fear and shock in his face. He drank heavily to settle his nerves but only succeeded in making them worse.

"I knew this would be interesting," sneered Harry as he returned to his original seat. "My turn again."

"Your father has disowned you; I can tell by the lost look in your eyes and how you, though you may not have even noticed it, shuddered when I said your last name. You try not to think about him and for the most part you've succeeded in not caring. But every now and again you look in the mirror, disgusted by your blond hair because it's so obviously his. Then, you think about your mother and how she secretly visits you when her husband is otherwise preoccupied." Draco's heart was sinking and sinking. He loathed Potter for how he seemed to know his life better than the one who actually lived it.

"And you sit there, all your alcohol and cigarettes hidden so as not to upset your mother because you know how much she hates it, and you're shaking, you're sweating, you're fidgeting. Even the six hours or so she spends visiting sparks withdrawal symptoms, and you do everything you can to keep her from noticing because you really, truly love your mother but you detest your father." On the last sentence Harry had leaned towards his target to emphasise his point. Draco pushed him back with his bottle in hand.

"I do believe I've touched a nerve?" Harry batted his eyelashes in mock innocence that was disturbingly not unlike Aunt Bella had always done to his father when they argued.

"You've touched a lot of fucking nerves, Potter," Draco spat after smothering his agitation in alcohol. Still, though, Draco stayed. "Are we just going to tell each other horrible things the other doesn't want to hear?"

"No. I just figured we'd get a head start on admitting shit we don't want to admit." Draco considered, sipping from the bottle at intervals in his thought process.

"I hate you, Potter. I really, truly hate you."

"The feeling is mutual, ferret, but I notice you're still here."

"I'm not leaving. I'm not a coward like my father. You're right. I can't stand him. I don't want to be anything like him, and I'm not. I tried, oh-ho, I bloody tried to be him. I'm not heartless and wicked like he is. If you want to know anything about me as a person without taking the time to know me, think of my mother. I'm so like her in many ways. And I know she saved your life." This made Harry fall silent and his face stoned. No doubt he was having a flashback from the night of the battle, after he had died. Once in the safety of their home, where they were finally able to speak freely, his mother had told him how she had saved Harry Potter's life, if only to save her son's. The young Malfoy owed his life and livelihood several times to the man seated at the other end of the sofa, but Draco never truly appreciated it until his mother told him what he had done to help her find him. Now Draco had a flashback from the fire and the feeling of being pulled onto the back of a broom. He'd hugged Harry's waist tightly, burying his face in his back and choking from the smoke that had entered his lungs. The heat and ash that rose around them burned his eyes, but as soon as he was out of the fire he was on the ground again; Harry had dumped them both off the broomstick and he and his friends were already running away. Draco never thanked Harry for what he'd done.

"I guess I should get to know you better," whispered Harry, obviously guilty about being so hateful. "Because I remembered when you saved my life at your manor. Your father would never have done that, but you and your mother would, and did. I apologise."

_Did… he just have a mood swing?_

_ "He's a nutter, Draco. What do you expect from someone who's seen all he has?"_

_ I don't care if he's a nutter, arsehole. After the war, we're all nutters. He's got every right to be batshit insane if he wants to be._

Draco extended his hand, which Harry took and they shook.

"I accept your apology. And thank you, for saving my life. I never got to tell you."

"Who knew Draco Malfoy, the twitchy little bouncing ferret, could be a civil human being?"

"Not anyone who refused to give me a chance to prove that I am." At this sudden understanding, both men smiled as they clinked their bottles together. The same feeling he felt in the church that morning came over him again; for the first time since he arrived on Potter's doorstep that afternoon he felt at peace. For a fleeting moment he felt like he could actually find a friendship in Harry Potter, for which he never wanted to admit to anyone he'd always hoped.

"Less heavy chat, agreed?"

"Yes," Draco blurted a little too quickly. He covered by admitting he always hated how Harry beat him in Quidditch, every damn time.

"Eh, but you were a worthy opponent. You would just see red and let it get the best of you. I always waited to fume with rage until my feet were firmly on the ground… and the Snitch in my hand." Harry murmured the last part of his sentence to his lap, and a sly smile invited Draco's well-deserved kick to his shins.

"Hey, I thought we were going to be nice to each other now!" He rubbed his assaulted shins with the cold vodka bottle.

"We are, but being nice doesn't mean you get off the hook for being a cocky prat." Harry shrugged and put up his hands defensively. Harry rose and disappeared into the room from the day earlier, coming back a few minutes later, but Draco hardly noticed. He was laying on his stomach fiddling with the remote control to the television set.

"You know how to work it?" It was an innocent enough question. Draco rolled over onto his back and lifted only his head to stare judgmentally at Harry.

"Of course I know how. I fucking own one." He flipped back over and propped his elbows up to rest his chin while he flipped through the channels. The skull shaped bottle refilled itself at his side, but he didn't notice. "I'm going to let you in on a little pastime of mine, Potter. I play drinking games with myself to corny sitcoms. Care to join?"

Alcohol had never made Draco belligerent or idiotic. Besides killer hangovers and the obvious decimation his liver, alcohol did wonderful things for him. It made his tongue loose, but not to the point of over sharing and making people uncomfortable. It made him pleasant to be around because he couldn't help but smile and giggle. In a lot of ways, it exposed his inner child that he worked so hard to repress. Harry had made his way to sit beside the lanky man sprawled on his carpet, rocking back and forth on his hipbones to the annoying intro jingle of the sitcom. The liquor had flushed his cheeks and gave him a permanent goofy smile, which consequently made him look like an elongated child dressed in far too expensive clothing.

"Okay, rules first. Whenever they play a laugh track, drink. Whenever a commercial starts, drink. When the show starts again, drink. And, God forbid, if they play a laugh track in a commercial, you have to drink a third of your bottle. But that never happens; I just made that up right now."

"Challenge accepted." They began to drink.

And they drank. A lot. Whatever elixir Harry had mixed into Draco's vodka was, he considered, a miracle, and he made a very drunken note to himself that he needed to ask what it was when they were sober enough to discuss it.

"I… I think y'beat me, ferret," Harry slurred. They were lying on their backs in the middle the living room, staring at his ceiling. Draco heard Harry's bottle roll across the tile floor.

"Nah. Ess a tie. 'M' quittin'." Draco gently pushed his bottle away from him; it was too interesting of a design to risk breaking it. "Y'know, wur lucky wur wizards. It takes s'a lot to kill us. If… if we were Muggles we'd be dead righ-bout-now."

"No fuckin' kiddin'… we err suh-lucky." Harry's last two words ran together as his hands fumbled to accentuate his sentence. Their heads rolled to the side so they came face to face. They looked at each other for a moment before succumbing to a fit of giggles, each rolling and curling up in a ball to stifle their laughter. Still shaking with laughter, Draco began to edge himself towards the nearest chair. Finally within arms' reach, he mustered all his strength to pull himself up, even using his face to help push his head off the floor. It had been a while since he'd been that drunk, and was happy during it. Potter was still clutching his sides laughing. The flush had risen in his face as well, and the years of grief and struggle seemed to have disappeared. Draco watched him, studying his face. It wasn't until then, when the pain wasn't as noticeable, that he realised just how aged Harry had been because of his battles.

In that moment, they weren't men with responsibilities, who had seen war and murder and sorrow. They were teenagers, genuinely enjoying each other's company. Draco wondered if, had he not been a shithead in his youth, he and Harry would have been friends and done this when they were actually teenagers, stowing away in an empty classroom in Hogwarts to get wasted and make fun of each other.

"'Ow'd you get up dere?" Suddenly, Draco was yanked back down on the ground beside Harry. "Watchit. Y'could get a bruise, y'little peach." Harry scrunched as much of his face as possible and clumsily pinched Draco's cheek. Draco snickered and, equally as clumsily, attempted to swat Harry's hand away but managed to smack the tip of his companion's nose. Harry froze, stunned and staring at his own nose, and then broke out into giggles again, which grew into a roar of laughter that set Draco's own into motion again. Through his deafening whoops he reminded Harry how much he hated him, who returned the sentiment and gave him a light, playful punch in the jaw.

The sun was setting outside, but neither man cared. The rest of the evening was spent rolling on the floor acting like children, and both of them preferred it that way. By the amount of alcohol both had consumed Draco deduced that neither would remember in the morning much of what had happened on the floor, how they teased each other and snickered at nothing until tears flowed down their cheeks and he knew that more than anything he wanted this to happen again and again because it was the happiest he'd been in probably his whole life. He just hoped Harry felt the same about their new found bond, conceived through alcohol, but when he looked over at the boy soldier lying next to him on the rug, pushing his palms into his eye sockets to stifle the tears brought on by unbridled howls of hilarity, all doubts crumbled to dust. Harry Potter, at least for a few hours, was happy, and Draco had helped get him there. It was the first step he had taken in keeping his promise to himself, and he had wholly succeeded.


	5. Minor Absolutions and Selfless Gestures

Again Draco awoke before dawn. He was lying on the sofa curled up under his jacket and Harry was lying on the floor about a metre away, cuddling the skull vodka bottle. It was still dark outside and the tungsten street lamp by his window made the room glow orange.

_"Okay, so now you're waking up in his flat again. This better not become a regular thing."_ Draco ignored his nagging conscience. Slithering onto the floor and crawling over to Harry was a feat, as every movement made his head pound in agony.

"Hey, Potter. Psst!" Draco whispered loudly, shaking the other's shoulder. "Wake up. You fell asleep on the floor." Harry mumbled in his sleep and clutched the vessel closer to his chest. Gently Draco individually pried Harry's fingers from the glass skull to remove it him his vice grip. Draco sat back on his heels. "You're not waking up, are you?" Pulling himself to his jacket to retrieve his wand, he cast a weightlessness charm over Harry.

_"Well aren't you just the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen,"_ the voice said to him as he lifted Harry to carry him to his bedroom. _"I daresay I might shed a tear at this precious display."_

_ Fuck off. You would hate sleeping on the floor too._

Harry mumbled again when Draco laid him on his bed, trying his best not to drop him and cause him to stir. As he was letting go, Harry grabbed hold of his forearm and nuzzled it, as he had been doing to the bottle. Draco bit his lip at his compromising situation and tried to wiggle his arm free.

"C'mon, scarhead, gimme my arm," he hissed, shaking his arm a little harder. In his sleep Harry pulled an angry expression and gripped even tighter, halfway covering their predicament with his chest. "Really?" He set to remove the fingers from his thin arm. One by one until one hand was no longer in contact with his arm he pulled them from their grip. The second hand would be a bit trickier; it was partially under Harry's body. The moment Draco went to disconnect the other hand, Harry trapped both of his arms under his body, curling up into a ball around them.

_"Just fucking wake him! You have to go to work!"_

_ Yeah, in five hours._

_ "Oh, so you're just going to sit here and sleep with him until then?"_

_ That wasn't my plan, no._

_ "Go on then! Yank your arm from his death cuddle and get on with your life."_

He resumed trying to wrench his arms from Harry's grasp, but turned up fruitlessly every time. It seemed highly unnatural that he not only could grip so strongly in his sleep, but that he also stayed asleep through Draco's nearly spastic movements of his arms.

"I'm only holding on like this because I don't want you to leave yet," Harry admitted, speaking clear as day. Draco stopped trying to remove himself immediately and gaped at Harry. It took him a moment to process that he actually had spoken. Harry hadn't moved, opened his eyes, or even changed his breathing. Most importantly, he hadn't let go of Draco at all.

"H-how long have you been awake?"

"About five minutes. Long enough to see you fighting with yourself about whether you should just accept your defeat or cut my hands off to free yourself."

"You sneaky little shit." Harry smiled and finally let go.

"You have work today?"

"8 AM to 6 PM, Monday through Friday." Draco sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted at the thought of the impending fifty-hour workweek ahead of him. Harry remained curled in a ball, still outwardly feigning sleep. "It's three in the morning. When did we fall asleep?"

"I don't remember anything. Stay until you have to leave?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll do something stupid." The breath caught in Draco's throat as he turned the phrase over in his mind.

_So now we're getting somewhere._

"You're not going to do anything stupid. I promise." Harry pulled the pillow from under his head and coiled around it. He watched Draco, lit by the outside lamps, with the one eye that was exposed.

"How can you be so sure?"

"If you need me to stay that badly, I'll stay. But only until I have to leave for work. I'll be the first to admit this, though: I'm the worst person to go to for comfort."

The tiny ball that was Harry shuffled around so his head was closer to Draco and settled just close enough for the top of his head to touch his thigh. The gesture rendered him speechless; physical affection and comfort was not something he was raised on and was rarely given. Draco never learned how to sympathize with anyone or how to accept someone's sympathy. Harry looked up at him, visibly awkward and uneasy, and the most genuine, tired smile spread across his lips. It lasted just long enough for Draco to catch the expression and then Harry turned away.

"My stomach muscles hurt. We must have laughed a lot, or you punched me." Draco lay back on the bed, hands folded over his pelvis and long legs hanging over the edge, while Harry sat up to get something from his bedside table.

"Do you have your lighter on you?" Draco lazily slid it from his pants pocket and handed it over by flicking his wrist backwards.

"This is a no judgment zone, my entire flat. You've got no room to judge me, Captain Boozebeard, so I'll just accept your agreement of this policy on good faith." Harry lit whatever it was in his hand and Draco knew instantly it wasn't regular cigarette tobacco. He inhaled deeply and spoke through holding his breath.

"I'm glad you ended up looking like your mother. I don't think I could stand to be around you if you resembled your father. And thank God you have the decency to cut your hair like a normal person." His held breath spilled out of his mouth in a plume of milky smoke and he recognised it as "that Harry smell" that had clung to his shirt from a few days before. Harry sat up against his headboard, flicking the ash into a drinking glass beside his bed. He watched Draco, who was intently watching the ceiling.

"I never expected to wind up here," Draco admitted after a long silence. Harry was holding his breath again, but made a questioning sound in his throat. "Here, lying on your bed, in your room, in your flat, with you smoking pot right beside me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want some? Shit, where are my manners?" Harry extended the joint in Draco's direction, which he waved away.

"Next time." Harry seemed extremely pleased with this reply.

_"Next time? I think you're becoming attached to the little prick. You've never done drugs in your life."_

_ If it gets you to shut up, I'll try anything._

"I'm going to admit something," began Harry with the joint to his lips, taking a small puff. "I like having you around. It's like… fraternising with the enemy or breaking the rules or something. And you know how I like breaking the rules."

"I like being here," he admitted without thinking.

_"Princess Mushy Gushy has arrived."_

_ Fuck off, you._

"Can you remember anything from last night?"

"Not anything after we watched television." Draco tried his hardest to pull anything at all from his memory, but it was darkness. His abdominals did ache significantly, though.

"I hope we didn't fight." Harry took an extra long, slow draw followed by several short ones in rapid succession.

"It's very unlikely we did." Draco looked at Harry, who cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "I'm usually the antagonist, and for some strange reason you don't tick me off nearly as much as you did in school." Harry laughed.

"I was almost a Slytherin for a reason," he confided. At this, Draco leaned himself on his elbows to full-on gawk at Harry. He lifted his glasses to rub his eyes, grinning widely.

"Potter. Come on. You've got to explain what you meant by that this instant." Harry chuckled and continued rubbing his eyes. "I'm serious!"

"I meant what I said. I almost was a Slytherin. The Sorting Hat practically demanded I accept its wisdom and allow it to sort me there. But I'd heard from Ron that you all were a bunch of assholes. And then I met you, and we hated each other from the start, and _you_ were an instant Slytherin, no questions asked. At that point I decided there was nothing good to come from being with you lot, and I begged it for anything but Slytherin."

"That's very Slytherin of you," Draco pointed out as he lay back down. "Doing whatever it took for you to get what you wanted. I can respect that."

"I'd have to question your entire identity as I knew you then and now if you couldn't respect that. Aren't you all supposed to be manipulative masters of deception?"

"You could say such things. Some are better than others at twisting the minds of the people around them."

They sat in silence for a while as Harry got stoned and Draco continued to stare at the ceiling. Multiple times he was aware of the other watching him, but he pretended not to notice. Harry was spacing out and found his fingers absorbingly interesting. Draco had an idea as he watched Harry, high and still slightly drunk, fumble with his scarred hands. He leapt from the bed, alarming Harry from his daze, to retrieve his wand from where it had rested after he cast the weightlessness charm. He stood in the doorway, deep in concentration, and with a wide swish of his wand the ceiling disappeared entirely. He beamed at himself, pleased and feeling nostalgic as the night sky crawled from the corners and consumed the top of the room. Harry audibly gasped as he watched the stars pepper the ebony sky and silver clouds rolled over the colossal cream moon. It was the same enchantment Hogwarts used to transform the ceiling in the Great Hall.

"I've never been high, but I figured you could use some stars." Instantaneously after returning to sit on the bed he was swept up by Harry, who embraced him in a rib-crushing hug. He felt a warm wetness on his neck that he knew from personal experience could be nothing other than tears. Draco pushed himself to lean against the headboard and held Harry as he cried, not knowing what to do to help him. Draco's hateful inner voice was nowhere to be heard.

"Hogwarts was my home too. I went home every summer to people I couldn't stand being around. I'll never really understand what it was like for you, but I can imagine." He wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, who continued to weep into Draco's collarbone, but he managed to whisper to him.

"This is the most… incredibly sweet thing I've ever witnessed. Thank you, thank you a million times over. You're an amazing person. I'm sorry I'm blubbering like a baby." Draco grabbed Harry's chin and made him look up.

"Harry James Potter, you can blubber as much as you want. You've earned it."

Harry squeezed the thin waist in his arms and sniffled under his tears. Draco rested the hollow of his cheek on Harry's head. He'd never been that close to anyone before in his life, but he didn't mind it in the slightest.

"You're still not leaving, right? Not until you absolutely have to?" He sounded so childish and weak as he buried himself further into Draco's chest.

"I'm not leaving. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't with how tightly you're holding me." Harry loosened his grip significantly, which Draco immediately protested. "I'm here to comfort you. How I feel at this moment doesn't matter. If you need to hug me so hard I get a hernia, be my guest." The pressure around his midriff returned slowly. "I'm still not leaving." Harry had calmed down considerably.

"Hogwarts was the only home I knew. It was more than I ever could have dreamed up while living under my aunt and uncle's stairs. I'd do anything to go back, to see everyone again. They took it all away from me." Draco pulled away only slightly so that he could twist his body to face the other man. He hesitated distinctly.

"Before you say anything else, will you tell me something?"

"Anything."

_Anything…_

"Do you," Draco swallowed heavily, "blame me for everything that happened? With the Weasleys, Granger, everyone?"

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, no. I don't blame you for anything. You were living up to your house, doing what it took to protect yourself and those you loved. Doing what you thought would get you to the top. I can't bring myself to blame this on your naivety; that's cruel. I can't even blame your father. I blame no one but Voldemort; he was the cause of everything from the beginning. He corrupted so many people, and he ruined our lives before either of us was even born. We were just swept up into a vicious, terrible undertow too strong for us to pull away from. I saw what happened on the Astronomy Tower, which Dumbledore and Snape. You don't possess the ability to be that cruel and heartless." Draco cut him off by tackling him into a bear hug, inelegantly hiding his face in Harry's chest, who hugged him without a second thought.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that," he breathed, gathering small handfuls of Harry's t-shirt. "No idea."

_If Harry feels comfortable enough to hug me, I can be as well. Is that weird? Is that forward? Oh God what have I done. I'm such a moron. Dammit Draco, you're fucking stupid._

A barrier of reservation between them had been broken and their personal space bubbles greatly diminished. Draco pushed himself away in embarrassment, but Harry pulled him back.

"You really think I'm letting you go that quickly? You need hugs more than I do; you've probably never had a real one before. You're allowed to hug me. Whoever taught you man hugs were disgraceful should be shot." They locked eyes. "Your father should be shot." And they laughed at how little needed to be said for Harry to arrive at that conclusion. "Ferret, you're really thin."

"What do you expect from a person who lives on a diet of liquor and…" He trailed off, unable to remember having eaten anything since the soup in the café.

"You don't eat anything, do you?" Harry's voice sounded seriously concerned.

"I eat! I just can't remember what the last thing I ate was besides that soup. I was too stressed all weekend to even bother. Alcohol fixes everything."

"Not everything. But if you weren't such a drunk I never would have found you again and kidnapped you, and you would never have been able to experience my amazing hugs and I would never have gotten my…" Harry paused to gaze deeply at the enchantment floating over his head and sighed happily. "…incredible, beautiful ceiling." A juvenile grin flooded his face as he stared up. The Hogwarts ceiling was a sight to behold, but it was storeys above their heads there; yet here in his bedroom, it was as if the heavens had descended to greet him and wash away everything that had happened. He glowed in the healing light from the moon and stars and it seemed that as he beheld the skies above him he felt at peace with himself. Unexpectedly he came back to reality and shook his head swiftly from side to side to clear his thoughts. He began to speak again and the low rumble of his voice in his chest vibrated against Draco's face.

"I can't berate you for how you kill yourself slowly from the inside. I've got a diet much worse than yours."

Since he'd first woken up at Harry's flat, neither of them had come any closer than a metre away, so he never noticed just how tall he was compared to Harry until he was curled up against him. Even just sitting plainly, Draco was a head taller than Harry, and standing was just under a foot taller. Harry had to look up at him, and he down, whenever they stood next to each other. Draco's compulsion to have impeccable posture made him even taller, something of which his father was immensely proud. With surprising grace that Draco didn't know he possessed he reversed their roles in one fluid motion: sliding his head under Harry's arm and putting his own around the other's shoulders so they were sitting how they were before.

"You said you'd tell me anything?"

"If I can let you close enough to hold me, which is undeniably weird for me, I think I can let you into my head."

"That's good to know."

They stared literally off into space together for a long time; neither dared to move. The pit of Draco's stomach twisted awkwardly because he wasn't sure how to feel about the seating situation. Every time Harry shifted or adjusted Draco nearly jumped away, thinking he was finally tired of it and wanted nothing more than to run out of the room. Admittedly, it was relaxing to lie there and feel Harry's chest rise and fall next to his own.

"I like when you smile," he said after many minutes of saying nothing. "Even when you were making fun of me in school and you laughed in my face, I could still see faintly what it looked like when you actually smiled."

"Whenever I smile I try to hide it. Smiling isn't highly looked upon where I come from."

"Maybe you can hide it and be miserable around them, but you're shit at hiding it around me. I notice everything. Like how uneasy you feel right now." Draco stiffened. Normally he was so good at hiding his emotions. "But don't feel so special. After the year or so in seclusion I've become hypersensitive to people. It's not just you. It's anyone that interacts with me, directly or otherwise."

"What are you, a super hero or something?"

"Just mentally deranged and full of myself. You're not an idiot; before you even met me again I'm sure you assumed I'd be bonkers. Knowing what you know now, why are you still here?"

"Because you're not going to hurt me. You've made it clear that if anyone in this room is going to get hurt, it's going to be you hurting yourself."

Harry was quiet for a few moments before shrugging in response. "There's not much for me here, so what I do doesn't matter. I can't save anyone anymore. I can't make a difference. If I'm a super hero, I need people to save. That's what they do. But," Harry paused to make sure Draco looked him in the eye. "I'm not alone. This will be self-centred to say, but I'm pretty well known again. Just… in a different way. By different people."

More silence. Draco guessed it was around five in the morning by the indigo skies that glowed outside. The moon on the ceiling had dipped halfway out of sight, and one corner of the room glowed fuchsia as the sun began to rise. Harry turned to him and said how he used to watch the sunrises from his dorm window after his Voldemort nightmares, freezing his toes off on the cold stone next to the open window. Draco told him about his walks around the castle at dawn, when no one was around to bother him. He told him how he'd never owned a house elf since the war and admitted, with much coaxing from Harry to get it out, that he'd supported Granger in her S.P.E.W endeavours, just not as fervently.

"Hermione hated you just like the rest of us, but she's very forgiving. If she saw you now, even without me around, I don't think she could hate you. I'm sure she'd be touched if you told her about how you agree with her on the treatment of house elves. Probably would even try to make you a poster child of reform, parade you around in funny little sashes or something." Harry paused and said, while staring at the rising sun, "Ron will always despise you, though. Hermione would make him bite his tongue, but he's got too much pride to suddenly accept you as a good person."

"Is it normal? For guys to sit like this with each other?"

"Does it feel normal?" Draco thought about the question and searched the anxiety-riddled pits of his stomach for the answer.

"It's new, and strange. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. But it doesn't feel particularly terrible."

"Then it's normal. Especially because you and I both need someone who cares about us."

The sun rose higher in the sky as another hour passed. Draco watched the snow on Harry's windowsill glitter like glass in the sunshine, and hoped it would snow again soon. Perhaps even turn into a blizzard so he'd have an excuse not to go to work. He looked down at Harry who, after coming down from his high, had fallen deeply asleep in an uncomfortable looking position on his shoulder. Draco shifted him so he could use his, although bony, somewhat comfortable lap as a pillow. He draped his arm over Harry's side and noticed his waist was as thin as his own.


	6. Small Tins and Smoke Rings

7:00 a.m. Draco jolted awake. In his sleep he'd slumped to the side and used the curve of Harry's waist as a pillow.

_"Ha fucking ha. Now you don't have any excuse. You _have_ to wake him up. Queer."_

Draco was livid at his inner voice and was quickly growing tired of its condescending remarks. Giving Harry a quick hug before wiggling out from under him, he argued with himself to shut the hell up because he wasn't going to listen to that voice anymore. Once free he grabbed the sheets at the end of the bed and folded them up over Harry, who had begun shivering in the absence of the other man's body heat. Removing himself from the sight of Harry sleeping under the peaceful early morning sun, he grabbed his coat and shoes and Disapparated to his flat to shower and gather his briefcase.

In the shower he jumped up and down, scrubbed the hangover off his skin as roughly as possible, moved as quickly as he could to try and expel the strange burst of energy he had.

_"You're acting like a damn fool. I miss when you didn't give a shit about anything."_

_ I still could care less about 99.9% of everything._

_ "That boy seems to be consuming a lot more than just .1% of your mind today."_

After the shower, he stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself. He'd always been that thin, he told himself. He was in no way emaciated, but his hipbones and ribs were clearly visible. He decided he'd eat something after work.

The people at the Ministry asked him if he was feeling under the weather because of the rose flush on his cheekbones, to which he wordlessly nodded. They wouldn't understand Muggle excuses such as sleeping with the heating on too hot, or having been walking in the cold for too long and caught a bit of frostbite. He certainly couldn't tell them that every time he moved the smell of Harry's apartment came up to hit his nose from his jacket and that he was fighting against the small smile that dared to surface.

The senior assistant stamped papers in record time that day, going through almost a day and a half's worth of work. He cleaned his office, ran memos for the Carrows, sat in on hearings with the Minister, and acted like a general ass-kisser all day as he tried to find anything to do to occupy his time. All across their department people murmured how strange he was acting and how much energy he seemed to have. Draco ignored them and kept his placid expression even as he ran around completing whatever anyone asked him to do. At the end of the day, he was pleased with his decision. Time had flown by.

Clocking out to leave was probably the happiest he'd felt all day. If he kept up this strange burst of fervour at work, he wouldn't have anything to do at all on the weekends, which was just fine. He decided to walk the kilometre or so from the Ministry to his flat, and picked up Chinese takeaway on his walk. Descending the stairs and struggling with the over-filled paper bag that held his dinner as he grabbed his house keys, he felt almost happy to go home and see his little bamboo plant sitting in the window the way it always did.

"Glad you're eating," came a snarky voice by his front door. Looking up to see Harry leaning on the front door smoking gave him a start; although it was an obvious thing to expect, he hadn't once thought Harry would bother to seek him out. It seemed it was Draco's job to seek out Harry. Draco couldn't find words and unlocked the door in silence.

"You're eating too," he finally managed to say.

"Not hungry." Draco looked down at Harry, who was avoiding his eye, which he had not done a single time since they first met. Draco grabbed Harry's jaw between his thumb and forefinger and made him look up at him. Harry's pupils were blown out so much the green of his irises was just a thin line.

"What are you on?" Draco's stern voice made Harry wrench his face away from Draco's hand and look away again.

"Lots of things, okay? Just please, let me sit here with you. I cleaned my whole flat twice today and walked for an hour or two and now I'm here. Don't turn me away." He seemed so sad and ashamed of himself that Draco's heart fell. He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze, who sniffed sharply and rubbed his nose angrily with his palm. Draco sighed as he placed the food on the table and grabbed Harry's face again to look at him. He avoided looking into his eyes as he studied the face in his hands. Harry was pale and had light circles under his eyes. Harry's trembling hands came up to hold onto Draco's wrists.

"You're freezing."

"It's just the cold. It's winter you know."

"It's not because of the weather, Potter." Their gaze finally connected and Harry's eyes looked heartbroken. "And don't even apologise to me, because I know you're going to. You didn't do anything to hurt me." Draco let go of Harry's face and began to mull around the kitchen, looking for the thickest coffee mug he could find. He stuck the mug in the microwave to heat while he put water for tea on to boil. Harry sat on one of the stools around the counter island with his frigid hands shoved between his thighs to try to warm them, avoiding looking at the blond man at all costs. He swung his feet back and forth, scratched his ears against his shoulders, picked at his worn jeans, anything to fidget and avoid Draco's questioning glare.

Draco sat the hot mug of tea on the counter in front of Harry with a clink.

"Even if you don't want to drink it, hold the mug. It'll be warmer than your thighs." He swore he caught a tiny smile of appreciation on Harry's downcast face. Draco tore open his food and cracked the cheap wooden chopsticks that came with it. He took a seat at the opposite end of the island across from Harry, who he watched while he shovelled noodles into his mouth.

"I warned you, ferret." Draco had noticed he refused to call him simply 'Malfoy' since they'd started their uncharacteristic friendship, which he attributed to Harry's understand that Draco wanted nothing to do with his namesake. He appreciated it immensely. He never thought he'd admit it, but he preferred 'ferret' to his surname any day. "I warned you."

"I know. That's why I'm not angry with you." Harry perked up enough to sip the tea and look across the counter.

"You mean that?" Draco shrugged whilst tearing open a soy sauce packet and pouring it over his rice.

"You did warn me. And like you said, I've got no room to judge because I'm such a sot. Please eat something?" Harry shook his head and pulled out a tiny metal tin. He opened it, tabbed his finger on his tongue, then back in the tin, and ran his finger along the inside of his lips. Hiding the contents with the lid, he dipped his finger in again and sniffed it. Draco watched abashedly. Harry's bottom lip puffed up as he ran his tongue behind it while putting the tin back in his jacket pocket, and he ran his hand upwards over his nose.

"Just enough to take the edge off and I don't snap at you from withdrawal." Draco mouthed an "oh" before he began pushing his rice around the folded paper carrying box between bites.

_Harry fucking Potter is on cocaine, in my kitchen. Oh Merlin. I just watched him take cocaine and I'm sitting here eating Chinese food and staring at him._

"It's something I really shouldn't be doing in front of you. But I don't want to hide it anymore." Draco suddenly came to the realisation that Harry had snorted coke every time he'd been over, because he only rubbed his nose after leaving that mystery room beside his kitchen. "Are you going to run away from me now," he asked in a small voice. Draco was quiet out of the shock of what he'd just witnessed. Harry looked up from his lap to dare take a glance at his new friend across from him.

"Never," he finally replied in reassurance. "But I can't fix you. I don't know how to help you-"

"I don't want to get clean," interrupted Harry. "I've tried. But the nightmares always came back and I've nearly killed myself a few times before I relapsed."

Draco had no idea what to say. Harry was beginning to squirm. Suddenly a big smile grew on his face.

"Do you like Christmas? What about Halloween?"

"Uh…?"

"Christmas is wonderful. I never had a Christmas until I went to Hogwarts. I got my first presents there, and Ron and his family sent us food because he didn't want to leave me alone at Christmas."

"That's actually really sweet." Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"I wish it would blizzard soon."

"I was thinking that this morning!"

"Good, good! I'm glad. I love snow. And winter. I bet winter is really beautiful in the countryside. I hate being inside. Do you want to go outside?"

"Not particularly…" But Draco didn't have a choice in the matter, apparently, as Harry rounded the table and dragged him by his wrist out into his garden. The sunny blue sky had given way to the uniform dreary clouds that brought snowfall. As Draco locked the door Harry ran halfway up the stairs out of the garden.

"Come on, come on!" He jumped up and down on the stairs and laughed.

_Well I understand his mood swings now…_

Harry continued to drag Draco behind him all the way to Hyde Park, which was nearly empty because of the impending curfew.

"Uh, Harry? If they catch you out after curfew…" Harry put his finger on Draco's lips to shush him.

"They won't, remember? They can't catch me. And they never come to the park. Death Eaters hate nature and beauty apparently." They watched as a dog walker rushed to get her dogs back to their owners before curfew started. Harry took off running across an unblemished stretch of snow between two sidewalks, making sure to mess up as much as he could before rounding to come back to Draco, who was laughing in bewilderment.

"You're something else, Potter."

"I'm fucking awesome, that's what I am." Draco let out a short, loud laugh.

"Well then!"

"Do you want to go out on Saturday?" Harry's pupils had dilated to cover a little more of the sliver of remaining green. The childlike look of excitement in his eyes made it nearly impossible for Draco (or, he assumed, anyone) to say no.

"Where to?"

"Just this place. A club. We'll go, and it'll be great fun. I promise." The idea of a club made him feel uncomfortable, but oddly enough Harry in all his coked-out splendour gave him a little bit of security. Far off in the distance Draco picked up on the crack of one of the curfew police appearing, and he grabbed Harry's hand to run and pulled him to run.

"No, silly. Follow me." Harry, with legs much shorter than his cohort's, darted off much faster than could be expected. He ducked and dodged trees and low-lying shrubbery until they dove through a thorn bush. They sat in the hollow bush, surprisingly unscathed from the thorns. It was completely dark in their small pod of a hiding place, covered by thick leaves and barbs. They watched through tiny gaps in the leaves the patrols begin. Harry shuffled closer to sit beside Draco.

"It's bloody freezing. What is this, winter or something?" Their faces were smudged with mud from their hideaway. "Hiding from these fools is so exhilarating." They sat there for five minutes before Harry announced he was done being outside. Draco grabbed Harry's arm and Apparated them back to his front door.

"I've always hated that feeling," Harry grumbled when they finally stepped back into the warmth. Their clothes were covered in dirt. Draco looked down at Harry, who was kicking dirt off his boots outside the front door. His hair had bits of leaves stuck in it and the cowlick at the front of his hairline stood up. He had dirt smudged down the side of his nose and jaw and his glasses were fogging up from the heat on the room.

"You look like a mess."

"I'm quite used to it." Draco charmed the dirt off their clothes and shoes before turning to store away his Chinese food. "I can't stay forever tonight. I've got people to meet."

"Look at you, Mr. Popular." Harry was still standing in the doorway while the other man cleaned up his dinner. Harry jumping onto Draco's back suddenly knocked knocked him forward. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Giving you a goodbye hug!" Harry seemed like a wild little monkey the way he had managed to secure his legs around Draco's back. Harry hugged his neck, nuzzling his face into the back of Draco's head. "Bye!" And just as fast as he'd pounced, Harry was through the door and out of sight.

_What a weird, strange person._

_ "I think he likes you," _the voice teased.

The days until Friday passed quickly enough as Draco essentially whored himself out to whoever needed extra work done. He was in the Floo network at exactly 6:01 Friday evening, and was at Harry's doorstep by 6:15. Harry was sitting on his stoop smoking a cigarette, befittingly with one behind his ear that he handed to Draco upon his appearance.

"You didn't come bother me after Monday."

"Neither did you." His pupils were normal and Draco only barely held back a sigh of relief.

"I just don't want to wear out my welcome, is all."

"We slept together. There's no welcome that you could possibly wear out."

"Don't put it like that." They exhaled simultaneously when Draco sat down on the steps. Harry elbowed Draco's ribs. "It's going to snow again tonight." He blew his lungful of smoke up towards the sky. "Maybe it will snow on Christmas."

"Hopefully. It's not Christmas if there isn't snow."

"Do you want anything? You know, for a gift?" Harry looked over at Draco with an absurd expression. "It's a serious question."

"Just come over, spend time with me. Even if I can live in solitude, going back to lonely Christmases was the hardest thing for me to do." Draco wasn't planning on spending the holidays with his family; his father all but forbade it.

The entire apartment was dark, lit only from the light from the streets.

"We're going to watch a film. No, you don't get a say. But we're not drinking, remember?" Draco remembered, and nerves hit him. "But, you don't have to do it if you don't really want to…" Harry held up his hands as he walked past Draco down the small entry hallway.

"I said I would." Harry glanced slyly over his shoulder as he grabbed the wall and spun himself around the corner and out of sight. Draco hung his coat and scarf on the rack beside the door and kicked off his shoes. Harry's hand shot around the corner, wiggling a joint, which Draco plucked from his fingers and lit as he walked around the corner.

"And we're just going to lay here and watch this, and we're going to be high and it's going to be a magical experience, okay?"

They hardly watched their film. Lying on the floor shoulder to shoulder was quickly becoming a favourite way to do just about anything.

"At least I know I'll sleep well tonight," Draco sighed about ten minutes later. He understood why Harry liked smoking; it was something that was more relaxing than cigarettes and made him search his soul. It unlocked a lot of his personality vaults he'd previously decided to lock away forever.

"Do you think I'm annoying because I ask so many questions?" Harry asked before blowing smoke rings above them, something Draco had never even moderately mastered.

"Why would I? Questions are good. You learn so much from questions. The past three years have changed everyone. Being here with you, like this, isn't about me deciding The Boy Who Lived isn't my enemy anymore. It's more about discovering that Harry Potter is a great fucking person to be around, and I'm realising I was such a shithead in my youth for not giving you a second chance." He took another draw. "You can ask all the questions you want. We both had to relearn whom we were inside, so now each of us needs to relearn whom each other is. Because you're not the same insufferable little bugger I thought I knew, and I'd like to think I'm not the same egotistical git you thought you knew." Harry turned over and propped himself on his elbow.

"N'aw, you mean that? That's so nice of you."

"Of course I mean it. I don't waste my breath saying things I don't mean unless it's going to get me somewhere really important."

"Always striving for self-preservation."

"Naturally, because in the end, you've got no one but yourself. You could die surrounded by thousands of people, but you're still dying alone. In those last seconds you're with your thoughts, reviewing everything you've done in your life and deciding if you're proud of it, if you've done what you wanted to accomplish. They say your life flashes before you eyes. Does it?" He pulled from the joint again.

"Dying is…" Harry paused to smoke his own. "Dying is the easiest thing I've ever done. Sleeping is harder than dying. Dying just… it hits you and suddenly you don't exist in the way you thought you did. You have this existential crisis with your own being after you die. You do everything you just said, but it's so much _more_ than that. But it's also so much less. Being asleep can be defined as peacefully or fitfully. Being dead is just being dead. There's nothing to it. In some cultures, you don't even exist anymore. I think that was the hardest thing about realising I was dead: the fact that I simply _wasn't_ anymore."

Draco pondered on Harry's wisdom. Here lying next to him was probably the only person on the planet that could actually tell the masses what lay ahead after death.

_I like this stuff._

"I'd probably do it all over again if I could. I saw Dumbledore, you know. On the other side. But it wasn't really the other side. He met me in limbo and told me I didn't have to go back if I didn't really want to. It was a fantastical moment fathoming that I could truly choose to live or die, not just protect myself from or subject myself to it. But I don't know if just anyone gets that choice. My whole life until that point I'd been living on Voldemort's time, using his soul. He killed that when he killed me. Now I'm living using my own soul and my own time. I think it was because he left part of his soul in me that I got a second chance."

"You just blew my mind. What made you come back? Hold that thought." He stood up and retrieved two pillows from Harry's bed, tossing both on the floor. Draco laid back down on his side and propped himself on the pillow. "Okay."

"I had people I loved. People worth coming back for." Harry propped himself up as well. "I had Ron and Hermione, and Ginny and everyone. But I didn't just have my friends from Hogwarts, but an entire population rooting for me to win. You know how I like saving people." He drew from his joint. "I had you, too, to come back for. You and your mother."

"But we never did anything-"

"Wrong. I had never officially met your mother, but I knew you well enough to know you didn't deserve all you had coming to you. You were dragged into it all and you didn't want anything to do with it. You thought you did, but you gathered too late that you weren't like them. So I had to come back for you too."

Draco refused to let on how much that floored him to hear. In death, the saviour of the wizarding world had taken him into consideration. Years of boyhood admiration welled up inside him at the honour.

"Do you still have your Dark Mark?"

_And all the happiness I just felt… nope. Gone. _Draco shook the arm he was propped on and his sleeve fell down, exposing the accursed tattoo that dominated his pale forearm.

"It's dead though, so now it's just a black scar."

"Looks like Voldemort both left us with something…" Harry sat up and held out his hand. "Let me see it. It can't hurt me now." The former Death Eater put his arm in Harry's hand, who brought it close to his face to study it by the light of the television. Harry's hands were warm and it comforted him. He ran his finger down the image and his thumb across it as if he were trying to look inside it. When he dropped Draco's arm, Harry allowed his fingers to trace over the back of the other's palm. Chills went down Draco's arm.

"Impressive."

"Too bad I'll never be able to get rid of it. So I just hide it. I never look at it. I'm ashamed of it."

"It fits you." Draco glared daggers at Harry, who immediately fumbled to save himself. "Not that you're an evil murderous bastard. But the shape and design of it fits well on your arm. It's a very hard, edgy looking thing and you're not hard or edgy. Very interesting juxtaposition."

"I don't know whether to be offended or laugh," Draco remarked, slightly laughing despite his statement.

"Don't be offended. If I ever offend you, slap me in the mouth. I give you permission to do it."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I almost killed you in that bathroom, ferret."

"I like when you call me 'ferret'." He rolled back over on his back and continued smoking. "Just please never call me 'Malfoy'. You don't, but just… don't. Okay?" Harry promised.

"How do you feel?" It was a somewhat cocky, searching question. Draco threw his blemished arm across his eyes and sighed.

"Like my entire body is made of stars and I'm floating on a sea of celestial bypasses and motorways into the second dimension of my subconscious." He peeked under his arm at Harry, who seemed thoroughly impressed with his description.

"I don't think I could say it any better myself. We'll do it again sometime?"

"Definitely."

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" Draco remained quiet at the question. He had his own place, with his own supremely comfortable bed, but he would take sleeping on Harry's living room floor over sleeping in his bed any day.

"Are you going to do something stupid?" Harry was silent this time for several moments.

"No," he admitted in a broken-hearted voice. "But the stars are lonely without you here." Draco peeked under his arm again, this time noticeably enough for Harry to see.

"Then I'll stay here. I can think of no worse feeling than loneliness." Harry laid himself across Draco's body to hug him, resting his forehead in the bend of Draco's neck.


	7. Laser Lights and Pink Fog

_ "So you're cuddling, sleeping, and getting high together now. This is just great, Draco. This is just wonderful. What would your father think of you?"_

_ Like it matters? The last fuck I gave for what my father thinks of me ran away as soon as the government fell. He got what he wanted and now he's got no use for me._

Draco was on his way home the following evening.

"Don't dress too nicely. Where we're going, it won't matter what you wear. Absolutely don't be later than eleven tonight, got it? Oh, and don't drink." Harry had called after him whilst standing in the doorway. A wicked grin played across his face and his eyes were dark. Draco Apparated from his spot in the freshly fallen snow on the road and crashed into his bed at home.

"I hate clubs," he called to his silent bamboo plant. "Why am I even going?" He laid with his face buried in his pillow for seemingly an eternity, breathing in the now foreign smell of himself. Everything he toted with him on a regular basis smelled of Harry on every stich; Draco wondered if anything at Harry's smelled like him.

_It's a club. I've been to a club before. They're all the same. Why is Harry taking me to one?_

He remembered how Harry had told him not to dress "too nicely."

_Do I even own anything that's not "too nice?_" He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled open the closet. Suits, dress robes, everything was too nice to wear to a club. Draco set to the task of leafing through each individual thing in the closet, and found in the back jeans and a black t-shirt.

_I don't even remember owning anything like this… I could really use a drink right now. _It occurred to him this could be part of Harry's dubious plan, but he shook it off. It was impossible that he could have gotten a set of clothes into Draco's closet without him noticing.

But Harry _was_ sneaky like that… Tentatively, Draco smelled the clothes, and was relieved to find they smelled like him and not Harry.

Shower time was the perfect time for Draco to evaluate his life as it had been so changed by Harry. He hadn't been drunk in at least four days, which was extremely rare and entirely too unusual for Draco to be comfortable. He'd taken to sleeping on the floor of Harry's flat over the past two weekends, usually with Harry there. Even if he felt uncomfortable with it, he couldn't really back out. Harry was… unstable. Draco deduced that any upset to the fragile equilibrium they developed might not be taken lightly.

_"You're worried about offending him… you spent seven years insulting him, and you're worried about offending him?"_

_ I don't even know why you hang around. I'm not you anymore. And he's definitely not the same Potter anymore. You saw the way he got up in my face; he's fucking terrifying._

_ "It really is cute how much you seem to care about him."_

"Don't listen to yourself, Draco," he mumbled audibly. Faintly in the back of his mind he heard the sinister laugh of his inner voice as it faded away for the time being.

But he _did_ care about Harry, as much as he had cared about the few friends he'd actually made while at Hogwarts. The few days they'd actually spent together opened the strange, demented world that was Harry Potter's mind to Draco. He saw how Harry suffered through his eyes, even if his words and actions didn't show it. Harry was needy, but not so terribly that it was repulsive. Draco liked to think that Harry required him specifically to balance out the hectic nature of his consciousness because Draco's personality hardly existed compared to Harry's. Draco was so mellow he almost flat-lined in intensity whereas Harry had more ups and downs than the ocean waves. Harry laughed easily and never held back; Draco could hardly make himself smile and was introverted. Draco hated himself and tried to be as much of a non-entity as possible; Harry fully embraced who he was and who he had become. Harry was addicted to drugs, but Draco was an alcoholic.

Draco was completely confused by Harry. He wasn't the same person he assumed he knew in school, not by a long shot. He'd cast aside his recklessness for a form of controlled insanity. He wasn't explosive, didn't look for trouble, and, shockingly, he'd never left to look for his friends. It was as if someone had taken over Harry's body just to live vicariously through him. Draco shivered at the idea that the person he'd been spending so much time with _wasn't_ Harry after all.

Showered, dressed, and back on Harry's doorstep an hour earlier than told, he banged his fist on the front door. Once again Harry opened it as if he'd been standing there waiting. Draco ran his hands through his still dripping wet hair.

"You're _the _Harry Potter, right?" Draco wasted no time, but Harry's snide, cool exterior never faltered for a moment. Draco invited himself inside. "Tell me something only he would know."

"Haven't I told you a multitude of things that only I would know?" It would be hard to find something about Harry that literally anyone in their world wouldn't know. The dark-haired man leaned against the hallway wall and rubbed his temples.

"Your father bought your way onto the Quidditch team by buying a set of Nimbus 2001s," he began, pressing his thumb webbing into the bridge of his nose. "Hermione halfway turned herself into a cat with Polyjuice potion our second year. Ron and I disguised ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle to get into the Slytherin common room using said Polyjuice potion to question you the same night. Remember? I forgot to take off my glasses and I said I was reading, and Crabbe's hair started turning bright red halfway through our conversation. We did detention in the Forbidden Forest together and saw Voldemort feasting on a unicorn. You ran away screaming." He removed his hand from his face to roll his head to the side. "Satisfied?"

"Yes." Draco felt like an extremely mortified idiot for having questioned his identity. "Thank you."

"I understand your concern." Harry seemed exhausted and ran his fingers through his thick hair as he walked away. He continued ruffling his hair and rubbing his temples while he walked aimlessly from room to room, picking up articles of clothing and dropping them elsewhere with no particular schedule.

"Are you feeling well?" asked Draco hesitantly as he tiptoed around the corner. Harry gave him a weak smile.

"I'm way too sober."

"So you're high every time I'm around…" The blond felt offended, but didn't let it show.

"No, not high. But I'm never sober around you, or anyone. Don't take it personally." Despite how desperate he sounded, Harry didn't reach for anything except his pack of cigarettes. "I won't be sober tonight, though. Neither will you."

_He's so… manipulative._

"You just said it's a club. I'd assume that no one is ever sober at a club. I hate going out to party, by the way."

"This is different. This, I can guarantee you, you have never seen anything like this." Harry put a cigarette between his lips. "You dressed appropriately."

"This mysteriously turned up in my closet. I've never owned such simple clothes in my life." Harry raised his eyebrows with the upward curve of his lips. Harry lay on his bed staring up at his starry ceiling, lazily puffing on his cigarette. His head was towards the foot of the bed and his feet were propped up on the pillows. Draco stood in the doorway, unable to shake how awkward things were when both he and Harry were stone cold sober.

"You were early today," Harry mentioned on an exhale.

"I had a terrible sinking feeling that you weren't actually you. I had to find out and I didn't want to wait another hour and possibly ruin your plans with my nagging."

"It was a good question, and you weren't nagging. Goodness, you weren't nagging. Hermione nags. Pansy nags. You're strikingly non-confrontational." Harry tipped his head backward over the edge of the bed to look at the man in his doorway. "You're going to be standing all night. Sit down while you can."

"Tell me where we're going? Please?" Draco slumped onto the bed with his head at the pillows.

"I appreciate your childlike curiosity and impatience, but I'm not telling you a thing."

"Really Potter? You're going to give me an anxiety attack."

"Are you agoraphobic?" He continued after being met with Draco's confused expression. "Do you dislike being in large, crowded public spaces?"

"No. I just feel like a sheep being lead to slaughter because I don't know where I'm going and you're telling me to rest now while I have the chance. It all seems so foreboding." He shook his head violently to unknot his drying hair. He played nervously with the locks that fell in front of his eyes. Harry was looking at him.

"You look better with your hair a mess," Harry said quietly with a smirk. Impulsively he reached up and fiercely shook his hands through Draco's hair, further mussing it and making it stand in all directions. Draco blew his newly tousled hair out of his face to glare at Harry.

"Excuse you! My hair is a work of art, Potter. They have signs in museums that say, "don't touch the art" for a reason."

"There you are! I was wondering when I'd get a glimpse of the old ferret I knew." Draco shook his head and attempted to smooth his hair, flinching to cover his head whenever Harry moved. Harry ran his hand through his hair once to make it stand up just as Draco's had done. "Now we're even."

"Oh, hardly!" Draco combed his fingers through his hair, getting hung up on knots that he then picked apart. Finally managing to make his hair somewhat presentable, he went back to playing with his fringe while Harry continued to stare at him. He could have been rude and called him out on his staring, but the prickly feeling in his cheeks kept him quiet.

"Are you ready to go?" Draco's head shot up from his trance to see Harry standing there in an outfit very similar to Draco's but with an unzipped, worn leather jacket. He looked Draco up and down before announcing, "we'll be the most underdressed people there. But," Harry, noticing Draco's discomfort at being "under" anything, continued, "that's the beauty of it. Let's go."

They walked down the centres of the empty streets, hands shoved deep into their pockets. Their feet crunched on the compacted snow and the world was silent. As they walked, the buildings around them gradually became older, more run-down, and seemingly deserted.

"Now I really have to know where we're going," Draco demanded uneasily while subconsciously stepping closer to his shorter counterpart. It was a foolish, false sense of security; it was Draco who had the wand and the ability to defend them.

"No one is going to hurt you. It looks shady, but I swear it's safe. Your favourite pub is much more dangerous than here." Despite his reassuring words, Harry stepped closer to Draco.

They arrived at a heavy, black steel door covered in locks and latches, beaten by the years of passers-by and intruders. Harry placed his hand on the door grabbed Draco's wrist to have him do the same. The door glowed white faintly around Draco's hand, but at Harry's touch the bolts undid themselves and hid away inside the frame of the door.

"It's just recognizing you as my guest, that's all."

_His guest? This must be something exclusive._

Harry opened the door to a derelict looking elevator, which they both entered. Harry placed his hand at random on the wall beside him, making the door shut loudly behind them and the elevator grind into action. They descended for, what felt like to Draco, forever. Halfway through their descent, Harry pulled out from his pocket two purple pills.

"Take it when I say." He turned to face the opposite door of the elevator when everything went black. Draco began to feel the floor vibrate with the pounding bass of the club surely below them. As the elevator dropped, the reverberating sound began to consume the metal box until it came to a shaky halt. The sound of the club surrounding them made it obvious they had arrived; outside, Draco could hear people talking and walking heavily over what sounded like industrial metal walkways.

"Now." Harry threw back the purple tablet in his hand and Draco mindlessly copied just as the elevator doors slid open. The sight that met his eyes was, just as Harry promised, nothing Draco had ever seen before.

A petite girl stood beside the elevator door, one arm crossed over her middle and her other elbow resting in her hand. She was holding a fluorescent pink cigarette in her black-gloved hands that, when she exhaled after a drag, gave off bright purple smoke; the embers glowed green. In her other hand, at her hip, she held a brown leather derby hat with intricate golden goggles set around the bowl. On her head, instead of hair, was a mane of black ribbons and neon green and pink fabric tubes and coils that were seemingly held on by a similar, but oversized pair of green goggles that matched the ones on the hat in her hand. She wore thick-soled, knee-high black leather boots with purple buckles. She was hardly clothed; a green tube top stood for a shirt and a full, short pink skirt covered as little of her fishnet-clad legs as possible. She took a draw from her strange neon cigarette and flicked the hat in Harry's direction. He took it, hooked his arm around the girl's waist, and planted a kiss on her neon pink lips. Still holding her, he turned to Draco.

"This is Eve," he yelled at Draco over the din of the nightclub around them. "She'll show you around." He threw a small wink at Draco before pulling the derby hat low over his eyes and walking up a ramp. Draco finally got a good look at the girl under all the outrageous colours and bobbles. She was busty with a tiny waist and wide hips that were only accentuated by her skirt. One eye had a white iris while the other glowed a luminous purple. She grinned slyly at Draco before stepping forward and hooking her arm through his.

"I'm Eve," she repeated, looking him up and down with a smirk. Her voice sounded resonant and digital. "Welcome to The Underground, Draco." She led him to the edge of the metal platform on which they stood and Draco gaped at the scene. The space was huge and packed wall to wall with people all dressed similarly to Eve. Through brightly lit shallow tunnels that lined the walls, more people materialised, all decked head to toe in bright colours. Everyone wore numerous types of glowing bracelets and twinkling lights. Looking closely at some of the people, many of whom were smoking the strange pink cigarettes, he saw a girl with waist-length straight hair dressed in black leather. Her hair shifted through all the colours of the rainbow continuously, and another girl with short, hot pink spiky hair was running her fingers through it in awe.

"Here, it doesn't matter where you come from," Eve pointed at the two girls. "The one with the pink hair is a Muggle; the girl with rainbow hair is a pureblood." She continued pointing out where various people came from. From in between her breasts she pulled a thin, silver cylinder and flipped it open. She dumped a pink cigarette in her hand and blew on the end. It sparked blue and then began to burn green. "Take it. You need exposure."

_Where the fuck am I?_

When Draco didn't respond, she pulled down his bottom lip with her thumb and stuck the cigarette in his mouth.

"They're safer than actual cigarettes, believe it or not. It's Harry's design." She gestured with a sweep of her arm to the crowd, which seemed to move as a single being to the music blaring all around them. "This is all Harry's design."

_This is Harry Potter's goddamn nightclub. He built a fucking nightclub._

"We don't judge you on where you came from, who you are, or who you've been." She flicked her eyes down at Draco's left arm. She slid down one of her gloves to reveal the same exact mark. Draco continued to smoke his cigarette, feeling very clearheaded and light. She began to walk down a ramp into the crowd. Draco looked up at the towering unfinished ceiling crossed with steel beams. He saw Harry standing in a windowed room suspended above the crowd, talking to another man wearing a bowler hat sans goggles.

"We're all a family here. And after tonight, you'll be part of our family too."

"This sounds like a cult," Draco said shakily, overwhelmed by the scene around him. Her metallic laughter twinkled over the music.

"This isn't a cult! You don't have to give a blood sacrifice, and you can decide never to come back after tonight. What I mean to say is, everyone here will become your friend. Everyone here will enjoy being around you. You can tell them of all the terrible, horrible things you've done and they will all love you just the same. We all have our skeletons in our closets. But this place changes people." Draco glanced at Harry, who smirked back down at him and placed his hand on the window. His handprint glowed pink and consumed the glass. Then, a fuchsia mist began to descend from the ceiling like a heavy fog. Draco started to panic when Eve stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"It's the second half of the cigarettes, love," she said, plucking Draco's from his mouth and tossing it into a glowing tube next to one of the tunnels. "Don't be scared. It's brilliant."

"What _is _it?"

"It's a unique neurotoxin designed relax your mind and make you feel the soul and beating heart of The Underground with your very being. It's temporary and almost as harmless as breathing." Draco didn't understand how any type of neurotoxin could be harmless, but it was too late. The fog had descended into the masses and was breathed up by everyone around him. "It will kick in soon."

As soon as the fog had dissipated, the lights flickered out, leaving them in complete darkness. Eve's goggles glowed a vivid green, illuminating her round face. She smirked, pushed Draco into the centre of the crowd, and stepped onto a platform. It rose above their heads, and everything fell dead silent. She raised her gloved hands over her head, which began to glow green in the darkness, and quickly clapped twice. Her claps echoed around the room, and that was when the mist hit the confused blond and he closed his eyes.

He could feel the heartbeats of everyone around him, and Eve's claps resounded over and over in his ears. A steady, universal clap began to rise from the crowd, making a single sound like a steadily beating heart. The music from the speakers gradually faded in, taking over the tempo of the claps. It came to a crescendo, and on a down note, the crowd clapped just as Eve had, twice rapidly. The music kept building, and then they clapped twice again before taking up the steady, single-clap tempo once more. The bass boomed and the clapping stopped. Draco opened his eyes to behold the sight before them. The crowd moved around, and, as planned, would clap together, hands over their heads, whenever it seemed they were supposed to. Draco found himself moving in time with the soul of the club and, oddly, clapped as they clapped without having ever heard the song before. He opened his eyes and saw Harry in front of him moving with his congregation as one of his own, eyes flicking all over the club to follow the lasers and flashing colourful lights. Draco felt like he was floating and swaying in slow motion whenever he closed his eyes, but with his eyes open the world whirred to the music as if it had been sped up.

Under the ultraviolet lights Harry's eyes shone as brightly as Eve's clothes and it dawned on Draco for the first time that the man before him was attractive. The way his jaw was set, the perpetual unruliness to his hair, the green eyes that could decipher your very soul; all of it was extraordinary. Harry caught Draco staring intently as him and stepped close enough to where their chests touched, and his heart raced.

The glowing people around them, moving with the pulsating bass assaulting their neurons, condensed and pushed Harry and Draco closer to each other until they finally had no choice but to dance together, absorbing the energy that the toxic pink fog had given them. Everyone was invigorated and instead of just simply attending the club, they lived it. They breathed the very essence of everything it stood for into the walls, lights, and tunnels that then breathed it back into them. They existed in the ethereal dimension brought on by their delusions for hours, allowing the music to flood their veins with neon hallucinations and the glittering sparks of the cigarettes that glowed around them. Their skin hummed at the energy coursing through them.

Harry had been right; it was nothing like he'd ever experienced. Draco was sure nothing else like it in the world existed; Harry had created a trippy luminescent haven that was so alien and complex it couldn't be properly described. It was divine and otherworldly, and Eve had been right: this place could change whoever stepped onto the floor, breathed the rose-coloured mist, and danced in unison with hundreds of other people. Draco could have spent a lifetime absorbing the auras that radiated around them.

Ages later Harry wrapped his arm around Draco's waist and they left the crowd that was still pumping the club's beating heart. They ascended the metal walkway towards the elevator that had brought them down, where Eve was standing just as she had been when they first arrived. Harry stood at the threshold of the platform and bowed, extending his hat to the assembly of shining neon creatures, who cheered for him and tossed their glowing bracelets into the air. They turned away as one, to meet Eve once more, who took Harry's hat and twirled it around one slender finger. Eyeing Draco with a vicious grin she kissed Harry on the cheek and winked as they stepped past her into the elevator. She leaned to Draco's ear, just barely touching it with her bright lips.

"I think you're the special one," came her mischievous steely whisper and she flicked her gaze to Harry. The pair entered the elevator and with Eve's wink and head nod towards the club owner beside him, the doors slid shut. Harry pressed his hand against the wall opposite the one he had touched earlier, and the elevator shot up uncharacteristically smoothly. Draco sunk to the floor using the wall as a guide, nearly gasping for breath.

"That was the most incredible thing I've ever experienced in my entire life," he breathed. His skin was covered in glitter and makeup from various dancers who had brushed against him.

"I wouldn't have sworn on it if I wasn't absolutely sure it would be." Harry slid to sit next to Draco, the fog still coursing through their grey matter as they tried to stabilise their breathing.

"So, it's yours, then? The Underground?"

"The great, wonderful beast is mine, yes. All my design."

"And the fog?"

"I learned some things when I had Snape's old Potions book."

"Brilliant," Draco whispered, mesmerised by Harry's genius. "And the synchronised clapping?"

"That, my friend, isn't my design. That came to be as an effect of the mist. The clapping is, to be as simple as possible, the design of the club itself. It works wonderfully to set everything into motion."

"How did I know it?" They had arrived at ground level and both begrudgingly rose to their aching feet.

"Once you breathe that mixture, you're one with everything around you. You felt the energy of it, the anticipation of when to clap and when not to, and it became natural." Draco believed every word. He threw his arm around Harry's shoulders and they walked back to Harry's flat in their silent, dark world, still buzzing with The Underground's residual energy and life.


	8. Cold Rainy Days and Realisations

Draco awoke the next morning to the gentle pattering of rain on the windows, snuggled deeply under the plush covers of Harry's bed. The stormy sky over his head made the room serene and monotonous and the random, low rumbles of thunder made him curl even deeper into the sheets; he could have slept for hours had he not realised he was _under_ the covers of Harry's bed, and that the other man was no where to be found.

He forced himself out of his warm, cosy cocoon to look for Harry, but not without the thick down comforter from his bed wrapped around him like an oversized cape. He shuffled into the living room into the sound of faintly playing music and saw the kitchen empty as well as the front hallway. He looked to his left towards the television and saw Harry sitting in front of the window clad in a thin sweatshirt and plaid pyjama pants that fell loosely around his bony frame. There was a cloud of smoke around his head. Draco, still partially asleep, plunked down beside him. The air from the comforter squished out and blew his messy hair out of his face. Harry gave him a shy side-glance and a weak smile.

"Good morning," he half-whispered. Draco fumbled to further envelope himself in the comforter until only his head was visible. "Did you sleep well?"

"Best sleep of my life, actually." His words were true, but in his grumpiness they sounded hostile. "This comforter is fabulous and I intend on keeping it for my own." He bent his face forward so that it was buried in the fabric, smelling cigarettes, cannabis, sweat, and cologne. He breathed in silently but deeply and let himself get lost in the warmth around his face. Upon raising his head, he started, "that club of yours… that was something else." Harry gave a gentle laugh and lit one of the joints that Draco noticed were sitting on the windowsill.

"I'm so glad it rained today. That place will drain you. I only go once a week. There are people that seem to never leave. They're the ones that need to disappear from their entire lives, not just their past."

"It was… something else," repeated Draco. He rested his forehead on the windowsill, the freezing cold glass window chilling the top of his head. He reached for anything to change the subject, realising how self-conscious he felt of his actions among the lights and neon beings. "It's like eight in the morning, right?"

"About, yeah." Draco groaned in response at how early it was. "But the weather won't be this beautiful at noon or later. Watching the rain in the early morning is the best way to start a Sunday."

"It is Sunday, isn't it," Draco complained into the wall. In twenty-four hours he would be walking into work for another fifty-hour week. It meant his weekend was over, something that was entirely his, and also that it would be another week before he'd find himself waking up in Harry's flat. He told himself every time he thought of Harry that he wouldn't keep sleeping over, but each weekend he spent away from his own bed. Draco's ears perked at the sound of something scraping along the windowsill beside his ear. Opening one eye he saw a small joint and a lighter. Somewhat gratefully, he lit it and stuck it between his lips.

"Did we sleep together again?" The phrasing grated his nerves and he pulled from the joint to calm the antsy feeling in his stomach. He had been so exhausted that he'd kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. He must have fallen asleep immediately.

"There's a possibility that we did, but I gave you all the covers so it wasn't romantic or anything. I just shivered all night."

"You shouldn't have done that. I would have been so irritated with you if you'd woken me up, but I would have slept on the sofa if you'd wanted me to-"

"Ferret, calm down," Harry assured with a small snort. "Really, it's fine. I only said that to make you feel a touch guilty." Draco smoked to quell his embarrassment. The tiny smile that Harry had when Draco had appeared from his sleep never fell from his face. They both stared out into the rainy street and Draco dreamily raced droplets down the windowpane and would get excited whenever his water droplet won. Harry shook next to him, and Draco, somewhat begrudgingly, unwrapped himself from his toasty shell to throw a half around the man beside him.

"If you were freezing, you could have told me to share this blanket. It's yours too."

"I thought you were keeping it?"

"I am, but until then I'm sure I can share." He pulled Harry by his frail waist so they shared body heat. Looking down at Harry, he caught him smile to himself.

They sat together under the fluffy duvet racing raindrops again. The music he'd heard when he walked into the room was soothing and gentle to match the rain outside.

"How did we end up like this?" Harry rested his chin on his knees, trying to avoid looking at Draco at all.

"Don't go changing on me now, Potter. I was just starting to get used to this."

"Changing? No. This is nice. I like this. It's good to have someone that seems to want to be around me for longer than five minutes and because they want to be, not because they want something." He chanced a glance up at his friend but quickly cast his eyes away. "I'm hoping that's what it is, anyway."

"I'm not using you. In case you haven't noticed, I pretty much blindly follow what you do."

"Yeah, why do you do that? Those purple tabs could have been anything last night, and yet you took it, no questions asked."

"I trust you," he responded quickly. The words burned Draco's chest. Trusting anyone was hard for him ever since his father had denounced him as family for being a failure. His mother remained the only person whom he could say absolutely that he trusted. Draco sighed, and let himself feel his words as he repeated them lowly. "I trust you."

Harry had hidden his face in his knees and wrapped his arms around his head. "What?" Harry shook his head when Draco nudged his ribs, but under his arms he could see Harry grinning. "C'mon, Potter, what is it?" Consequently, he was grinning too. Harry turned his head to look at him.

"Merlin, you're blushing aren't you?" Harry quickly hid his face again.

"I am not! It's just warm in here. Aren't you warm?" The barely hidden grin on his face grew wider.

"You're a liar and you know it! You're blushing!" Harry's refusal to look at him caused his own face to tingle and redden. Draco hid his face in his knees just as Harry had done, and they sat there avoiding each other's gaze but still beaming. "You can't say you're not blushing. I saw it."

"Oh, and you're nice and pale too, huh?" Harry was pulling on Draco's arm to break up his hiding spot. "Lemme see. Don't you be a liar too." He finally looked up, and Harry pinched his cheek, face as red as ever.

_It's cute when he does that. He should do that more._

_ "Draco Malfoy, what the actual _fuck_ is wrong with you?"_

With the cloud of smoke around their heads they giggled like children, leaning against each other to avoid falling over.

"I'm glad you trust me," Harry said after exhaling through his laughter. "I was wondering when you would."

"I think from the moment I woke up in your bed and realised I was still fully clothed and not dead, I trusted you. Also there have been plenty of chances that I could have woken up here with you holding me at wandpoint with my own wand. But you've never tried it. Or I just gave you the idea." He pushed his palms into his eyes and then resumed hugging his legs. "Damn, it's so odd saying that."

"I've trusted you for a long time, ferret. I think since sixth year when I came to the conclusion that you're not a terrible person. Call me a girl, but you were so… fragile that year and I just wanted to help you, comfort you, anything. But I knew you wouldn't have taken it well." Draco stared noiselessly at Harry, who was again avoiding his eye.

"No wonder people love you so much. You care."

"It's a blessing and a curse to care more for others than you do yourself. It's great; you get to see people smile and know you're the reason for it. But when you're alone at night, staring into the mirror, you realise just how much you neglect yourself." Harry trailed off, swirling his finger through the condensation on the window. It was amazing how fast he switched through his moods.

"You're very morbid."

"So I've been told. I think it's part of the job description of 'fallen hero' that I be some delicate creature reliant on the people around him." Harry's blush had given way to his typical pale complexion Draco was used to, and they finally looked at each other. "You don't think that I rely too much on the people around me, do you?"

"Potter, look at this. Look at everything around you. You've got one of London's nicer flats and you own a goddamn nightclub. You've got that…exotic girl Eve, apparently. You accomplished this with hardly anyone from our world knowing a damn thing about you or your whereabouts. I think that's pretty damn independent." Draco rose to his feet to grab his cigarettes form his jacket near the door. "Maybe when you were younger," he said through the filter of his cigarette, "you relied on everyone to help you. But you grew up and out of it." He tucked an extra smoke behind his ear before replacing the pack in his jacket.

Harry was watching him from his spot by the window as he rounded the corner and leaned against the wall to light his cigarette.

"Eve is nothing," was Harry's quiet remark.

_Out of everything I just said, that's all he gathered? Nice._

"She's just part of the show," he continued in a normal volume. "She's also a bit of a… messenger." As if on cue, there were three dainty knocks on the front door.

"How the fuck do you do that?"

"Hypersensitivity," Harry replied absentmindedly as he went to answer the door. "And I was watching her walk up the path." As he walked past Draco, he plucked the cigarette from behind his friend's ear and stuck it in his mouth. Draco raised his eyebrows and scoffed as Harry opened the door. The girl on the threshold wasn't the Eve that had glowed under the lights. Her eyes were bright blue and loose blonde curls framed her face. She was dressed in a fur-lined leather jacket, regular jeans, and leather boots. For a girl that glowed in neon on Saturday nights, Eve was surprisingly normal looking and pretty. She stepped in, kicking the stair to knock off mud from her shoes and unwrapping the black scarf around her neck.

"It's bloody freezing. It should be snowing, not raining," she shivered while whipping her hair out of her jacket. Outside of the club, her voice was airy and calming. Harry shut the door silently behind her. As if she owned the place, she waltzed into the kitchen and sunk onto a barstool. Spinning around, she noticed Draco standing against the wall. Several sly glances were cast between the two men in front of her partnered with a smirk and a small bite of her lip.

"Making yourself at home?" She pried Draco coyly, swinging her thin legs under the barstool. Draco stayed silent. "He's not your usual type, is he, Harry? He's different." She rose to walk towards Draco. She was shorter than Harry and next to Draco she looked downright puny.

_"At least you aren't his type, Malfoy," _his conscience jabbed.

"You're making me sound like a whore, Eve," grumbled Harry as he hoisted himself to sit in his usual spot on the countertop. She was looking Draco up and down.

"So this is what you wake up next to every weekend morning?" She reached up to run her perfectly manicured hands along Draco's jaw. Standing on her toes, she slid her hands through his hair. She stared into his eyes, judging every inch of him. She turned to return to her barstool with a wink and a nonchalant, "you weren't kidding. He is much cuter in the daylight." Harry choked on his spit as Eve tittered and swung her hair over her shoulder. The grey light from outside seemed to illuminate only her. Both men were silent with Draco staring at Harry and Harry fixated on a spot on the floor. Glancing between them, she gave a short laugh.

"You boys are so damn cute. Acting like you don't know a thing."

"Eve! Please?" Eve raised her thin hands in mock defeat.

"Okay, okay! I'm done. Shit," she swore, but stole a sneaky glance over her shoulder at Draco. She reached onto her back and swung a leather satchel in front of her. Her voice changed from accusatory to strictly business.

"I got everything you asked for," she explained as she tossed the bag to Harry. "It took less time than it normally does. Which is why, " she turned to address Draco, "I came today and not tomorrow. I'll admit, I was also a little excited to see if he was here."

"I thought you were done." Harry turned and hid the pack with his body, but Draco could hear the rustling of plastic bags and the crunch of cling wrap. Draco watched silently, stoned and smoking. Eve was still glancing between her boss and the almost stranger standing against the wall.

"I've never done," she teased, not tearing her eyes from Draco as Harry put a wad of money and the now empty bag in her hand. "But I believe I may have interrupted something."

"It was a peaceful morning until you came along." Eve feigned hurt by pouting. She jumped down from her seat, satchel in hand.

"Someone is a bit touchy this morning. I'll be leaving you two to your… whatever it was you were doing. By the looks of both of you, it was nothing fun." She snapped the fabric of Draco's shirt and bumped her hip against his thigh. "You're both too fully clothed." This time, Draco choked.

"Damn it, Eve!" Harry snapped, and she laughed heartily. He briskly walked towards her to shoo her out the door. She eyed Draco again.

"It's a shame he's all yours, Harry. I wouldn't mind a go at him." Harry pushed her through the doorway and locked it behind her. Draco could hear her cackling over the torrential downpour outside. Harry began dully banging his head on the door, and Draco couldn't help but snigger at him.

"We never mention anything she just said," he mumbled into the door, still hitting it with his forehead. "Agreed?"

"I think never is a bit too long to ignore what she's said. You've got a lot of explaining to do someday." Harry turned to Draco, who stifled a laugh at the red spot glowing on Harry's forehead.

"Just don't listen to anything she says." He refused to look Draco in the eye and as he passed Draco noticed a pink flush on his face.

"Fine, I won't listen to her." He didn't mention how much he was noticing about Harry's demeanour after Eve's visit. "She's got quite a mouth on her, though."

"It's her greatest joy in life to embarrass the hell out of me. But she's smart. Damn her, she's fucking smart. Witty, manipulative, deceiving."

"And pretty."

"Of course she's pretty; she's part veela." Draco raised his eyebrow and tipped his head to the side, as if to say, "I should have seen that coming." Harry leaned against the bar.

"She's nothing more than a business partner. She keeps the club running for me and basically I just show up one or two days a week, look pretty, and leave. But it's not like it's hard keeping that place up. What magic can't cover, money easily can. And it's not hard to come into money between me and her." He nodded his head over his shoulder to the counter he'd been sitting on. The bounty that Eve brought, wrapped in plastic and papers, make Draco's heart sink.

"Basically, she gets me everything I need so I don't have to go looking and jeopardise myself, and I give her the coin she needs. The club doesn't need a lot; she's a great witch who fixes and betters everything. I'd pretty much be lost without her running around for me." Draco listened intently and felt a strange feeling of hurt in the pit of his stomach.

_"See? He needs her, not you. Leave him alone before you're in too deep."_ Draco, for once, thought that his inner voice was right. Harry sighed heavily.

"But she's… not my type. Like I said: business. Nothing more. We fooled around once, in the very beginning, but decided it was for the best that it never happen again." Draco sank to the floor against the wall. He felt hollow, and tried to fill the space with cigarette smoke.

"How'd you meet?"

"It was like she'd been watching me while I was on display. She's a bit creepy, the way she knows everything. As soon as the cage disappeared, I ran. She came from the shadows and swept me into some disused tunnels under the city. We emerged about where the club is, and she sheltered me until she could get into my vault at Gringotts to get my money." He sunk down heavily into a seat.

"You've always got someone looking out for you, Potter."

"Well, she _looked_ out for me. Now she just brings me drugs and sometimes groceries if the danger of being found is too high. Usually around holidays when the patrols are more frequent."

"So you're still actually in hiding, then…" Draco refused to meet Harry's half-hearted gaze. Standing, he towered over Harry. The former hero looked broken. "It's just that with the way you live, it seems like you run the world." Harry snickered depressingly.

"I'm talking to the person that actually could run the world." It shocked Draco to hear it when the people in charge denied it vehemently. "You've got people looking out for you too, you know. That little _coronation _bullshit they did when the new Minister was elected, televised, broadcasted to the heavens and across the earth. There was talk of an attempt on his life during it. And yours."

"You can't be serious-" Draco leaned on the counter in shock. A sickening prickle rose in his face and neck while his stomach turned. He'd seen, unwillingly committed, and gotten in the way of murders, but had, to his knowledge, never been the target. His father said people respected him; his mother said people feared him. Despite his parents' words he always saw a man in the mirror that commanded neither respect nor fear.

"Didn't I tell you that I'm never done saving your life?" Harry spat as he rubbed his scar. "Even in chains I managed to save you. There are traitors in the Ministry, ferret. They came to me in the middle of the night and asked what I wanted done with both you and him, as if I were orchestrating the whole thing." Draco's heart hung in his throat and his breathing laboured just slightly.

"So? You bring this up now?"

"I'm tired of being with you without you knowing how much danger you're in. You were never what they wanted as the next in line, but they're terrified of your father and know you have his temper. You were never what they saw on their precious throne but you're there because of him and I think deep down you know it." Harry twisted his arm around to grab Draco's left wrist, looking deeply at his inner forearm and then staring into his grey eyes. "I also think deep down you know you're a traitor, too. Now more than ever, because you're here with me. I told the assassins to leave you alone and, though I wanted nothing more than to see his head roll, to spare the Minister too. It would be all too obvious if only you were spared, because who alive besides me and your mother would have wanted it?"

The words stung; his father called him a traitor countless times, and "traitor" to his family was synonymous with "useless," "worthless," and "dead." It was virtually heart breaking to hear the person Draco considered his only friend call him something so wretched. It pained him also that Harry was so goddamned right about the fact that his own father couldn't care less if his only child lived or died. He swallowed his heart with his diminishing sense of Malfoy pride.

"I'd rather be a traitor with you than loyal to people who put on false faces for the sake of their own asses." A great conniving grin grew on Harry's face as he squeezed the thin wrist and at that moment Draco knew Harry had done exactly what he'd promised: Harry Potter had turned his world upside down and Draco could have done nothing at all to stop it.


End file.
